#and i wonder if maybe its something in my body that makes me prone to sp

[jonny-b-meowborn]

What if you wanted to sleep longer in the morning because you didn't have school but god said ten thousand sleep paralysis the moment you close your eyes that make you feel like you're dying

[ofbatsandballads]

kindness you can’t afford

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: injured character, multiple descriptions of blood + wounds

a/n: so this is the very first jason fic I’ve written since I was twelve, so forgive me while I find my jay’s voice now that I’m not a preteen. anyways I humbly offer thee my wares.

divider credit: cafekitsune

Gotham’s a shithole. You hadn’t known that when you first moved here. To be honest, you’d kind of thrown a dart at a map and gone where it landed. Alright, maybe it wasn’t literally a dart throw, more so finding the cheapest metropolitan city because New York was tempting but it would bankrupt you. Mostly you just wanted a place to not exist. And so Gotham’s relatively low rent rates and towering skylines were the pick with little to no research.

Gotham’s a shithole. You know that beyond a shadow of a doubt now. It’s surprising, honestly, how little of Gotham’s chaos makes it outside the city limits. One would think a psychotic killer clown that’s prone to gassing a whole city district or a half-plant poison lady or a guy going around dressed like a bat would make national news. And yet, no. You’d known superheroes existed, of course. Superman was the shining jewel in the crown of the country that is Metropolis. Everyone knows about the extraordinary Wonder Woman. It’s not like hyper skilled people working for the greater good aren’t a thing. But Gotham plays her cards close to her chest.

You've lived here almost two years now and you’ve managed to make it through relatively unscathed. An impressive feat especially since you live in the Bowery. The Bowery itself isn’t so bad, but its neighboring district Park Row, more often known as Crime Alley, is about the worst Gotham has to offer. You’ve heard your fair share of gunshots and sirens, and you’ll never forget the time that Scarecrow released fear toxin in the district and you had to shove every towel and blanket you owned against the cracks by the doors and windows to keep it out. However, you’ve avoided being mugged or assaulted or anything like that so far. And you’ve never encountered the vigilantes that run the night here.

But there’s always time for new and exciting experiences.

The loud thunk that sounds outside your living room window makes you jump and starts your heart pounding. You know you should just ignore it. Crawl off the couch and to the bedroom, lock the door. The lights in the apartment are already off, only the television light illuminating the room, so it would be easy to creep unseen. But you can’t. Something pulls you to the window. Maybe it’s the cat killing curiosity, or maybe it’s your own little voice of self destruction, or maybe it’s something else entirely. All you know is that you have to go look.

So you do. And there, out cold on the fire escape, is a man. A very large man. A very large man in a red helmet. A very large man in a red helmet with dual pistols holstered to his thighs. Red Hood. Red Hood is passed out face up on your fire escape. Huh.

You’d heard of him. It was hard not to. The Bat had the most notoriety by far, but it was Red Hood that truly scared the criminals of Gotham. Batman might break your bones, cripple you even, but you’d leave with your life. No such guarantee existed if you crossed Red Hood. Hurt a few innocent people and you might end up with a bullet or three in your skull. Then there was that thing about heads in a duffel bag and Red Hood running crime for a solid year in Gotham, but he’s better now, apparently. None of this is deterring you from unlocking the window, pushing it up, and stepping out into the cold winter air. Not when you see the blood seeping through his body armor start to drip off the fire escape grate.

He needs help and he can’t stay unconscious in the middle of the city. If whoever injured him didn’t find him, the cops would. He’s just as wanted as the actual rogues of Gotham. You think it’s bullshit, which is why you’re trying to find a way to get him inside the safety of your apartment. He’s huge up close. This is going to be very, very difficult. Your mind flashes suddenly to one of your favorite childhood movies and how the princess pulled the dashing rogue around with her hair. You glance down at the street before heading to your bedroom.

You come back out with sheets bundled up in your arms. You’re not even sure if this harebrained idea will work, but you weave the sheets through the gaps in the grates and around Red Hood’s waist nonetheless. You secure a knot and go back into your apartment with the length of the sheets. Your legs are stronger than your arms, so you brace them against the wall and pull. You can feel his body slowly dragging towards you and you pause to check your progress. He’s slumped against the window now. Good. You loop your arms under his, place your feet back against the wall, and pull hard. Your hard work is rewarded with his body breaching the threshold of your window and landing directly on top of you. The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. He is heavy.

It’s a struggle but you manage to roll out from under him and immediately see the massive red stain contrasting against the white of your fluffy pajama pants. A small puddle of blood is emerging on your floor under his left thigh, and droplets of blood have splattered next to his torso. He’s not in great shape. It suddenly hits you what you’ve done. You dragged an injured vigilante, known for shooting first and asking questions later, into your apartment with no plan on what to do after the fact.

What the fuck did I do?

That’s all you can think as you look down at him. Then something snaps into place inside your rattled mind and you run to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You’d bought it and learned the basics after Wayne Enterprises ran televised infomercials about the importance of first aid a couple months back. You’re carefully balancing all the supplies in your arms as you head back out to the living room.

The empty living room. No vigilante in sight. Then your world spins. Everything clatters to the floor as you’re yanked backwards by your waist, pinned to something solid and unable to move.

“Who are you?” A growl sounds behind you, modulated to sound semi-mechanical.

Ah. There he is. You think you should be panicking, absolutely losing your shit even. But your brain is moving in slow motion.

“Someone trying to help you,” you breathe out.

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

The grip around your waist tightens. You want to laugh. As if you could’ve made a run for it in the first place. You tell him your name, and explain that you live alone. There’s no one else here but the two of you and you really do want to help.

“You were passed out on my fire escape. I couldn’t just leave you out there,” you explain cautiously.

The two of you stay like that for a minute longer. Then, a mechanical sigh sounds from behind you and the vice grip on your waist goes slack. You turn to him and see that he’s already halfway to your window.

“Hey! Wait! I can help!” you shout, scrambling after him.

“Don’t need it,” he snaps.

“You were bleeding out on my floor!” you exclaim.

You don’t know why you feel so strongly about this. Maybe because he seemed so…mortal. It’s easy to forget that these guys running around at night are people. They’re strong, tough, and capable, but they’re still human. The fact that he stumbles and has to catch himself on the window frame proves your point.

“Please. I promise I won’t take long. Please just let me help,” you beg.

He turns around and even through that unreadable helmet you can tell he’s sizing you up. You’re sure you must be a sight in your fuzzy white cat pajama pants, old Snoopy t-shirt, and fluffy white socks. Honestly, it’s a bit of a ridiculous tableau. Massive armed man in tactical gear opposite a woman in fluffy pajamas, both bloodstained. But either you seem harmless enough or he’s in exceptionally bad shape, because he just slumps against your wall and gives a barely noticeable nod of his head.

You go into autopilot the second you get his consent. A dining room chair is dragged to the center of your living room and Red Hood drops himself into it, the old wood creaking under the force. You go to assess the damage on his torso first. Light slashes litter his waist, none of them are deep enough for stitches. You grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the floor where you kneel before warning him that it might sting.

“I got slashed. Think that might’ve hurt a bit more,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

The torso slashes are light work. It takes all of five minutes to disinfect them and seal them shut with bandages. It’s his thigh that you’re a little more concerned about. There’s enough blood that it’s soaked his tactical pants around where you’re guessing the wound is. You can vaguely make out what appears to be cut fabric, so you’re assuming he was stabbed.

“How deep did the knife go?” you ask.

“Hm. ‘Bout two inches?” he offers.

“Why’d you take it out?” you ask incredulously. Anyone with half a brain knew not to take a knife out of a stab wound.

“No idea. Should’ve just gone runnin’ around the city with a knife wedged in my leg.”

The mask’s modulator does nothing to hide the teasing edge to his voice. Of everything you’d heard about Red Hood, you’d never heard he was such a smartass.

“You know how to do stitches?” he asks.

Great. So he saw the deer-in-headlights look you had while thinking about how to fix his stab wound.

“If you count mending clothing then, uh, sure,” you reply.

The white slits of the helmet stare hard at you before a warped chuckle comes from under it.

“Well, close enough.”

Oh, so he liked to gamble with his health then. Okay. Sure. Great. You could totally do this. Untrained, unlicensed, unsupervised you. You have to stop your hands from shaking as you thread the curved needle. You have to stop yourself from vomiting with anxiety as you push the needle through his skin. He hisses and you immediately feel bad. He’d handled the alcohol without flinching, but the stitches were a different story. You whisper sorry’s with every puncture of his skin you make. Soon enough, his leg is closed up and the whole thing is said and done.

“Okay, should be good to go,” you start, “Well, not good per se, but functional to go.”

A hum and a quick nod of his head are the only response you get before he’s back on his feet. He’s about to climb out your window for the second time tonight when you call out to him again. He turns around and you’d swear he almost seems exasperated.

“Take these with you. You’ll probably need them,” you say as you toss him a water bottle and a small carton of orange juice.

He snatches them easily from the air. But then he just stands there and stares at the drinks in his hands. You think you may have somehow offended him and go to apologize when he speaks.

“Thanks,” he says, mechanical voice catching on the word.

And then he’s gone. Out your window and off into the night. Once you shut and lock the window you feel exhaustion hit you like a freight train. All the adrenaline drains from you and it takes whatever energy you have left to collapse on to your bed and drift off to sleep.

You’ll never know it, but the Red Hood spends the last fifteen minutes of his patrol sipping his orange juice and dutifully watching your apartment window.

You’ll never know it, but Jason Todd lingers across the street to make sure you get home from the grocery store safely, and he scoffs as he sees you feed and pet a stray dog. It’s silly, he thinks.

Don’t you know that now you’ve shown it some kindness, it’ll just keep coming back?

[moonstruckme]

hey if you don’t mind, I’ve been struggling with a lot of anxiety and it makes my chest hurt a bunch so maybe you could rwrite something like that with anyone you’d like, ofc if you’d rather not that’s totally.

have a wonderful day dearie

Thanks for requesting baby, I'm really sorry you're dealing with that! I hope maybe you're feeling a bit better by now.

cw: anxiety, chest pain

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus knows you mainly watch this show because he likes it, and yet he’s dozing off. After a long shift at the hospital, the clashing of swords sounds about as lulling as a thunderstorm outside the bedroom window to his tired ears, and his head slowly slumps backwards against the couch cushion. When snuggle closer to his side, head needling its way almost into his armpit, he thinks you’re trying to get him to wake up. 

“Sorry.” His voice comes out raspy, drowsiness clinging to his vocal chords like a paste. 

You pull away, looking up at him. “Oh no,” you murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

The guilt in your voice has him responding instinctively, “It’s okay.” Remus drapes an arm across your shoulders, encouraging you back to where you were. “I was only resting my eyes.” It’s a flimsy excuse and you both know it, so he moves on quickly. “What’s up, hm?” 

“I was wondering if I could have a hug,” you say quietly, tentatively, your eyes not quite on his, “if that’s okay.” 

Remus checks himself before he can look too surprised. “Of course it’s okay,” he says, tightening his grip on you. 

Granted permission, you go all out. You turn your body into his, both arms wrapping tight around his midsection and face burrowing in the soft material of his sweater. Remus adjusts his hold to get a better grip on you. He brings his other hand to your head, cupping the back firmly. 

Asking for affection like this, so explicitly, is unexpected from you. It makes Remus feel like he’s just had a cup of tea, spreading warmth through his insides and leaving a pleasant aftertaste on his tongue. You hate to need him, but he loves to let you. He’ll take any chance to take care of you. He likes to think a secretive little part of you likes to be cared for, too. 

The exhaustion in his bones melts into something heavy and fond as he pets the back of your head. “Everything alright, sweetheart?” 

You hum into his armpit. “Just felt like I needed this, for some reason.” 

“Any reason’s good enough for me,” Remus half-jokes, dropping a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Did you have a long day, too?” 

“Not really.” Your voice dips into a lower register, disgruntled and bemused. You turn your face up so you can see him but don’t pull away, scooting closer to tighten your hold. “Nothing’s happened, I just feel a bit off, I guess. My chest hasn’t stopped hurting all afternoon.” 

He can see the regret in your expression when his eyebrows go up, and Remus laughs. 

“Oi, what’s that look about?” 

“I’m not trying to put you on the clock.” 

“No,” he says, smiling as he kisses your hairline, “You’re not, honey.” But he does reach for the remote, pausing the TV and silencing your background noise. 

Your eyes narrow. “You’ve got that serious look, though.” 

“That’s just my face, I can’t really help it.” Admittedly, chest pain worries him. Remus is prone to worrying about anything that ails you; it's where his job and his boyfriend duties collide. Still, he doubts you’ve been having a heart attack for the entire afternoon, so he’s not going to frighten you by telling you about the vast number of things chest pain can point to. “Where does it hurt? Can you show me?” 

You sigh and lean back, putting space between your chest and Remus’ side. “Sort of here,” you say, flattening your palm over your sternum. 

“Is it a concentrated pain,” he asks, “or more of an ache?” 

“More like an ache,” you admit. “It’s sort of, like, burning? But that sounds more dramatic than it really is.” 

He ignores the last part of your statement, setting his hand on your chest and pushing down gently. “Does that make it worse?” 

You shake your head, and Remus hums. You haven’t been coughing; he would have noticed. He works two fingers under your jaw. 

“What else feels weird, sweetheart?” 

“I’m not sure,” you tell him, starting to sound a bit raw. “I just feel…not right, you know? Is that bad?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, letting his fingers drop from your pulse point. ”I think you’re mostly okay.” He uses both hands to pull you into his lap. “C’mere, baby dove.” 

You seem far from unhappy at being moved, pushing your face into Remus’ neck and letting him rest his chin atop your head. “What?” you ask. 

“Did you have coffee this afternoon?” 

“Yeah.” You sound cautious. “Why?” 

“And did you eat before?” 

“Remus.” Your warning tone is undercut by unease. 

He kisses your head in apology. “I think your chest hurts because you’re anxious, honey,” he says. “The caffeine probably made it worse.” 

You go quiet for a minute. Remus rubs your back, sorry for the invisibility of your hurt but relieved that its cause isn’t something more sinister. When you pull away, you’re frowning. 

“I don’t think it’s that,” you say. “It’s never felt like this before.” 

Remus feels his mouth slant in sympathy. “I think coffee without eating is already a bad idea, but then if you got anxious and we started watching a stressful show,” he tries to convey some apology in his expression, “it might have made your nerves feel worse than you’re used to.” 

“I think I’m only nervous because my chest hurts.” You blow out a breath. “It’s kind of a chicken and egg thing, yeah?” 

Remus hums, running his hand up the length of your spine. He can feel your heart beating beneath his palm. “Humor me for a minute?” 

You sigh again. It looks strenuous. “Sure.” 

“Breathe with me,” he instructs, folding you back towards his front. You go willingly, though you seem tenser now than before, your hands nearly rigid on his back. “In for eight.” 

He listens to be sure you’re doing it with him, feeling your chest expand against his own. He lets his palm lie still beneath your shoulder blades, sneaking a gauge of your heart rate. 

“Hold for eight.” 

Remus feels your nose press into his collar. He turns his lips into your forehead, holding his lungs at their full capacity and knowing that if it’s difficult for him, it has to be considerably worse for you. 

By the time you’re finished breathing out it's a relief for you both, and you turn your face up to his with a bit less skepticism. 

“That was hard,” you admit. 

Remus bites back an I-told-you-so, but he knows his smile must say enough of it when you roll your eyes good-naturedly. 

“Why don’t I change it to something a bit lighter,” he says, nodding towards the TV. “We can do more breathing during the commercial breaks, yeah?” 

You appear to consider this. “And we can keep cuddling?” 

Remus’ chuckle lures a smile out of you. He’s exceedingly gratified to see it. “That was never up for debate.” 

[emmyspov]

Idk if your requests are open rn, but if they're not I apologize. I was wondering how you think The Fellowship would react to their youngest member (someone a little younger than Pippin, like around 20) being incredibly prone to injury but also having a really high pain tolerance. Like they keep falling off things and getting hurt but are just like "Don't fuss over me" and the others are just like hyperventilating because they're already like a little sibling to them so there is PANIC in this fellowship tonight

Source: I fell off a swingset and either severely bruised or fractured me hip :)

The Fellowship x clumsy!reader headcanons

author's note: first of all, i am so sorry it took me this long to answer this - life was just.. a lot and i was trying to stay afloat. then, i hope you are doing okay! and haven't hurt yourself more since you sent this in - please be careful & treat yourself gently 🩷 last but not least: i hope i was able to do you justice & you enjoy it :)

warnings: reader falling/stumbling/hitting their head/getting hurt in general, mention of blood, mention of food, please let me know if i forgot something!

word count: 1.6k

edit is mine, pics are from pinterest :)

Frodo: I think Frodo is actually the one who would understand you the best. I mean, he is the ring-bearer and everyone is always so worried about him and the quest and it’s understandable. I mean, he has a lot of responsibility. But sometimes, he feels a bit suffocated by the way everyone is fussing over him, wanting to keep him warm and well fed and safe. So, whenever something happens to you, he would give you some space first – waiting if you ask for help on your own. If you don’t, he’d make sure that you are not hurt. And then, he’d trust your answer. After all, you know your body and its limits best. If you say you are okay, he will simply focus on the quest again. If you do need help however, he will make sure to inform the others so you can get the help you need. Maybe this is something you could actually bond over. Because you’d treat him the same way – not like a baby, but like a friend.

Gandalf: Since you are the youngest of the group, he would feel very responsible for you. Not as much as Aragorn, but very close behind. Whenever you fall or hurt yourself, the wizard notices immediately. In an instant, he is by your side, helps you up and looks over you from head to toe, making sure you don’t have some big gashing wound or bones sticking out. Maybe I am wrong, but I do think, he would scold you a bit. “You really have to watch out”, “Eyes on the ground”, “Be careful”. But, all of these things mean that he cares. He just wants you to be safe and for you to come back in one piece. On the other hand, he is always quite surprised whenever you tell him that you aren’t really hurt. “Maybe it looks like I would be, but I can move my leg just fine – see?” And he would see. It’d take a few moments for you to convince him, but once you have, you will carry on with your journey as if nothing had happened. What you don’t notice is Gandalf eyeing you every once in a while, just to be really sure.

Merry: This hobbit is kind of used to chaos. I mean- he spends most of his time with Pippin. So, if you stumble and roll down some hill, the first thing he would do is laugh. I am talking a full on bending over, belly laugh. Until Gimli or Gandalf or, even worse, Aragorn slightly smack his shoulder before they are running after you, checking you for any injuries. Only then would he realize how dangerous this whole thing was and he’d follow everyone down to you. What he was not expecting however was to find you laughing. “Did I look cool?” Merry would stare at you for a moment before grinning at you, nodding. “Super cool. But are you hurt? Your arm has some scratches from all these twigs laying around.” You were able to stand up immediately, ignoring everyone’s wide eyes, and brushing off the dirt. “Nothing some water and Elrond’s ointment can’t fix.” You two got closer after this.

Pippin: First of all, he is SUPER glad that you, too, came along, because this way he is not the youngest of the group. Sure, he still has to deal with Gandalf’s annoyance at him, but he also has someone by his side who is also full of energy and curious and excited for the quest (at least in the beginning). But because he is the second youngest, he does feel a bit responsible for and protective over you. Like the older one of a pair of twins would. And since you hurt yourself a lot, he is constantly on his toes. Maybe you’d hold hands sometimes? Just so he can realize as early as possible that you’re gonna fall so he can at least try to buffer it. More often than not, it would also end in you two falling ON TOP of one another and that always ends in a fit of giggles. If you fall on your own though and it looked bad, Pippin would immediately call over Aragorn or Gandalf to help you, even when you say you’re fine because you’re his friend and he wants you to be okay.

Sam: Now we all know Sam is a mother hen through and through, even if he denies it. He is, understandably, mostly focused on Frodo and his well-being, but if something happens to you, he is one of the first to help, despite your protests. You stumbled? He will grab your hand and pull you up. Your hands got dirty and bloody from a fall? He will immediately offer his water bottle and help you clean off any dirt. And most importantly: at the end of the day or during breaks, he will carry over some food he cooked (and always an extra portion, too) even though you keep telling him that you can get it yourself and your ankle does not hurt, even if it might have looked like that earlier. “I just want to be sure, my friend. I don’t like the thought of you being in pain.” After a while, you start to accept his treatment.

Gimli: He is not up for discussions. You accidentally ran against a tree? Slipped while getting some water with him? He will not care for what you have to say about the amount of pain you are. You are the youngest of the group and have to be protected. So even if you vehemently try to make him understand that, yes, you might be bleeding a bit or yes, your wrist might be a little bit swollen, he would ignore you and instead call over the others to let them have a look at you. If they decided you were well enough to carry on, he would either carry your backpack (“Stop trying to take this away from me, I will take care of your belongings for now”) or sometimes even you - “Stop fussing around”, “No, you are not too heavy” and “I will carry you around until you are better.” Often times he knows that you would be well enough to walk by yourself, but it makes him feel needed when he can take care of you in some way.

Legolas: I feel like this can go two ways. Sometimes, when he is running in front of everyone else, he is kind of the last to notice whenever you hurt yourself. If he is with the group however, he will almost always be by your side or at least close to keep an eye on you. He likes to listen to you and Pippin talk since it fuels his inner child. One time, he was walking in front of you with Aragorn when you hit your head on a twig, resulting in a small cut on your forehead. You let out a yelp, more out of shock than anything else, but immediately the man and the elf turned around and ran to your aid. You tried to explain that you were fine, but Legolas seeing himself as a wood elf, was already on his way to find the closest stream to fetch some water to clean your wound. Aragorn was telling the others to take a short break when he returned and sat you down. “Stay still, my friend. Even if your cut doesn’t hurt now, it will later if we don’t treat it properly.” He only grinned when you mumbled something in return.

Boromir: Listen, Boromir has a little brother and a shitty father, he knows how to take care of someone while also respecting their boundaries and wishes. No matter how you hurt yourself, the first thing he will do is communicate clearly. Softly grabbing your shoulders, he makes you look at him and asks if you’re hurt or in any pain. If you answer no, he will ask if you need anything or anyone and if you also refuse that, he will make sure that everyone carries on with the journey. However, he will keep an eye on you, more or less secretly. And he will assist you with all the small things during the quest: rolling out your bedroll and placing it close to his own and the halflings’, sneaking you an extra blanket, making you sit close to the fire or refilling your water bottle without you having to ask. He has a soft spot for people younger than him and will never not watch out for you. Can you tell I have a soft spot for him?

Aragorn: Last but definitely not least, the Dúnedain. He is literally one of the best people to have around as a clumsy person - he has the experience from Elrond and the elves in general and knows his way around nature and the wild due to him being a ranger, so he knows how to take care of a wound. Heck, he had to do it to himself countless of times already. However, seeing you getting hurt so often makes his heart skip a beat every time and not in the good way. He worries about you, even if you claim to be fine. No matter how often you fall, stumble, bump against something or hurt yourself in any other way, he is by your side to take care of you. And he will care for you, no matter what you say. When you scraped your knees one time, Aragorn made you sit down on a log and cleaned your wounds before applying some of the ointment Elrond had given them before their departure. Only when he was sure that he had done everything he could, he would allow you to get back up and carry on. You would not get worse on his watch during this journey.  

[yesimwriting]

Of Angels

Part 2 of Of Angels (part 1)  

A/n we're back! also this is a friendly reminder that this isn't supposed to be exactly like the movie/book, some things will be a little different bc of practicality, my ability to remember things, or just for fun/for me bc i have more fun writing when i can change things up

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

----

The potential consequences of Coriolanus's mistake don't fully manage to force their way to the front of his mind until the door clicks shut.

He's thrown himself, locked himself, in a contained space with the most savage and aggravated group of people in the Capitol. Just in an attempt to get you to trust him.

Coriolanus turns around as casually as he can manage, "Hello."

Unwashed faces blink up at him. Their expressions start off as blank, slowly but surely hardening as they take in his clothing and presence. Someone from the Capitol that isn't a peacekeeper.

One of the larger tributes begins to walk forward. The others glare at him, watching him with a silent rage that makes the space feel like it's shrinking.

The largest of them gets so close that Coriolanus has to push his body towards the vehicle's door. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Do you have any family back home?" The voice isn't strong, but it's so steady despite its smallness that one could mistake it for certainty. Despite the threat that stands in front of him, Coriolanus's attention instinctually shifts towards you. "Or any friends? Maybe a puppy you're fond of?" Your fingers are curled around the edge of the bench you're sitting on. "They'll kill them."

Your tone is too neutral for you to be speaking from personal experience, and yet, you sound so sure. Coriolanus wonders if there's something there worth digging into. Maybe it's just a byproduct of where you're from, a district that's prone to rebellion is often warned about what disobedience can lead to.

The tribute cornering him doesn't move away, but he stills, stiff and uncertain. You look between them innocently. "Besides, he's my mentor." Your hands loosen their grip on the edge of the bench, you push yourself to stand. "I might need him."

"Men-tle?" Another voice chimes in.

"Mentor."

"How come you get a mentor?" The tribute questioning Coriolanus's presence in association to you twists their neck to glare at you.

"You all get one," he forces the sentence out quickly. The last thing he needs to do is make you a target. Getting you to live is going to be enough of an uphill battle as is.

The tribute closest to him takes another intimidating step forward. "He's lying."

"She's the girl that volunteered," the red-headed girl from four--Coral, if he's remembering correctly--sneers, angling her head to glare at you, "Of course they need to keep an eye on her." She then dips her chin downwards, staring you down with mockingly soft eyes, "Is it everything you thought it'd be, princess?"

Volunteering did mark you. He wonders how many remarks you had to put up with on the way here and whether or not they've affected your mental state. The short exchange the two of you shared made you seem together. You weren't overly emotionally or even aggressively closed off.

The determined pout of your lips draws his attention more than it should. You then tilt your head with no warning, matching her condescending expression, "Better, actually."

You draw out the sentence, not once shrinking under District 4's cold stare. Coriolanus's expression instinctively shifts to hint at a smile. Your sarcasm isn't off putting or brash, it's refreshing. It's a flash of fight, of sharp teeth ready to be barred that he hadn't thought you capable of.

The display of potential aggression also doesn't affect your charm at all. Being able to strike back while still holding onto the appearance of kindness is a skill in itself. Coriolanus has to take everything on the cheek publicly to avoid coming off like a starving dog finally snapping.

Those kinds of remarks won't do you any favors in the arena unless you're the kind of person that has the physical strength or skill to back it up. You don't. It's more than just your stature, it's in the way you carry yourself. But still, maybe you'll be entertaining enough under this new structure to score him some points towards the Plinth prize. That is, if he can get you to trust him, if he can convince you to talk about your relationship with your cousin and maybe flash that smile you gave him when you first met for the cameras.

Coral's glare intensifies. She pushes herself to stand, as if to intimidate you, but before she can fully straighten, the world shifts.

Coriolanus doesn't have time to think. He's sliding--falling--back before he knows what's happening. A few of the tributes yelp, one of the younger ones squeaks. Something warm latches itself onto his wrist.

He blinks, his body finally reattaching itself to his mind. The vehicle opened and started dumping out its contents with no warning. In the panic, you had grabbed him.

The vehicle settles, anyone managing to hold onto the metal door looses their hold. Everyone tumbles down a small slope, a mess of bodies bumping into each other when they're not busy hitting the edge of rocks until they land in a heap on the ground.

Coriolanus sits up as soon as his back hits something solid. His head snaps around, taking in his surroundings. The space is made up of jagged, tan rocks coated in dirt. Bars line the perimeter--a cage. This is a cage. Of course following the animals leads to ending up in a cage.

Self disgust and panic knot oddly in his stomach. He stands before he can think of what comes next.

"And here we have them, the tributes for the 10th annual Hunger Games."

His eyes find the people already flocking the bars, the most notable one of them someone he's familiar with. Lucky Flickerman, a usual Capitol programming personality. This, his public humilation, is being streamed on television.

"Oh, and look--" Lucky turns towards him, the cameraman instinctually moving to get him into frame. Lucky turns back to the camera, addressing his audience, "I don't think he's supposed to be in there." He laughs then, the sound jabbing at Coriolanus's side.

An aggravated heat begins to burn through is chest. There's nowhere to duck, no excuse to remedy what he's done to the Snow family name.

"Hey." He blinks, surprised he didn't immediately jump out of his skin. How you stood up so silently is beyond him.

Coriolanus can't think of a way to respond. Here he is, in a cage on display with you, like he's one of the district born, and you're the one attempting to ease him. Confidence, assurance. That's what he should be providing you so that you feel the need to--

You place your hand over his. The contact runs just as hot as the humiliation searing through him, only, this is a different kind of warmth. A much steadier, much more agonizing sort of warmth.

His eyes finally find yours. You look more tousled than before, one of your hair ribbons missing and dirt smeared against the apple of your cheek. "Own it."

You whisper the instruction so confidently it almost feels like this is natural to you. Owning it does feel better than being consumed by his embarrassment and accepting the destruction of his family name, but part of the steadiness comes from you. The realization that you're capable of that claws at him.

He nods, eyes instinctually dropping to avoid your expectant stare. The white rose is still safely held between your fingers. He stretches a hand forward, taking the flower by its stem. Your eyebrows draw together, but you let him. Coriolanus breaks off the end of the stem and carefully tucks the flower behind your ear.

You hold still, even as he takes the time to smooth your hair into place.

"Well, that's not something you see every day." Lucky's voice snaps him out of it.

Coriolanus takes you by the arm, walking you up to the camera's. He keeps his expression as casually bright as possible. "I'm Coriolanus Snow."

"And who is she?"

He expects to have to answer that, but you give him your full name without missing a beat, your voice smooth and sweet like honey. "And who are you?"

The cameraman lets out a small laugh at your confusion. "Be nice," Lucky mumbles, "Not everyone has a TV." He then turns back to you, "I'm Lucky Flickerman, Capitol weatherman, TV personality..."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lucky says into his microphone, "You're the girl who volunteered."

Coriolanus watches your reaction as best he can from his peripheral vision. Your lips pull downwards slightly. There's something almost sad about it, but it's done in such a respectable manner that he can't imagine anyone minding it.

You confirm with a slight nod of your head, "Yes."

Lucky takes the microphone back, "Now why would you do a thing like that?"

For the first time, a hint of cracking presents itself in your expression. It's minor, just the pull of your eyebrows, but he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for your reply. "For my cousin."

"And she's back home, right? You're from 12?"

You nod again, the motion small, "Yes. She's with my mother, her aunt."

"Well, that was a very brave thing," he commends, almost surprisingly serious, "Not many people are willing to die in someone's place." Your expression wavers, Lucky moves on before it can matter. "And you're?"

"Coriolanus Snow," he says smoothly, "I'm a student at the Academy."

"And you were...told to come here?"

Coriolanus breezes past the speculation in Lucky's tone, "I was told to present my tribute."

Lucky nods, turning on the easy, camera ready smile, "And present her you did."

"Excuse me," a tiny voice mumbles. You instinctually look down. A girl that can't be much more than maybe 7-years-old, "Who was the girl you volunteered for?"

You blink at the loaded question, "Uh--she's my cousin, and her name is Marigold, we--we call her Mari." The little girl blinks at you, watching you like you're something foreign. Which, he guesses, you technically are. "And you know what? She kinda looked like you when she was little."

The little girl beams, "I like your bows."

"Thank you," you hum brightly, like the compliment truly does mean the world to you.

You unlink your arm from his. Coriolanus watches you unsurely as you reach both hands to the side of your hair. You pull at the ribbon on one side of your head, unraveling it expertly. "Would you like one?"

The girl beams, nodding her head enthusiastically. You lean forward so that you're about eye level with the girl. You hand her the short piece of ribbon. The girl giggles before running off with her prize.

"Aw, isn't that cute?" Lucky's speaking to the camera as he starts to walk forward, "Come down, folks, and see these tributes before it's too late. And I do mean, too late."

Lucky disappears, walking as he continues to talk to his audience.

"You gave her your..." He gestures in the general direction of where the ribbon had previously sat.

You shrug, "Oh, I think the other one fell out on the way here. They're impractical, but I didn't--I didn't think I'd be in them for so long."

There's something he should say to you. Probably something comforting, assuring.

"Okay." The stern voice of a peacekeeper. Coriolanus should have known that it was only a matter of time. One of them clasps his shoulder, the other grabs his arm. "You're not supposed to be in here."

He's pushed back before he can speak to you. "Okay," he mumbles, "I'm go--"

You grab his arm before he can obey, "Bring us food." The words are hard, urging, "Please, I haven't eaten anything since before the reaping."

He nods once, pausing long enough to force the peacekeeper to push him back again. Coriolanus starts walking, flanked by the peacekeepers, his eyes trained on what's directly in front of him.

As they pass where the group had initially landed, his eyes find a bright speck of ivory white. A hint of brightness hidden by rocky dirt and grime. Your ribbon.

Coriolanus wonders if it's something you'd want back, something you'd spend your time searching for. You already gave away the other one, it can't have mattered that much. It's likely just some repurposed scrap.

He doesn't know what he's doing as he bends down under the guise of adjusting his shoelace. He's not sure what his goal is until his hand reaches forward, grabbing the ribbon.

"Okay," one of the peacekeepers hurries him, bending down to place a forceful hand on his shoulder, "Hurry up."

----

His apartment is heavy with silence. His grandma'am and Tigris have been asleep for hours now, resting the way he should be.

It's everything that's happened today. That's what's stealing sleep from him. There's a lot to do, a lot to think about if he's going to pull this off and win the Plinth prize. There's an uncertain charm about you. It's as if you have a greater understanding of what it's like to be civilized than the rest of them. That's something to work with, isn't it?

You mentioned needing to eat. Another obstacle that his financial predicaments have placed in his way. He'll have to take a risk he's taken so rarely--taking food from the Academy's lunch in order to bring you something. You'll be of no use to anyone if you faint in the arena.

There's more to think about, to plan. He could stop by tomorrow after his usual classes if Dr. Gaul doesn't orchestrate any specifics. And maybe even then. It'd be ideal to convince you that he cares about you more than any of the mentors care about their tributes. The more you think he's working for you, the more you'll work for him.

That's why he's awake. He shifts, moving from his back to resting on his side. All of this, all thoughts and analysis of you, are extremely practical.

He wipes at his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He finds his discarded uniform, left folded neatly on his small desk. Without thinking, Coriolanus reaches deep into the uniform's pocket, digging through it until his fingers brush against something smooth and cool. He pulls out the partially stained, ivory ribbon. Truly practical.

----

Taglist (tagging people who were asking about part 2, if this is annoying, i'm so sorry pls lmk if you don't want to be tagged) : @juleshaters @cosmicsully @edb954 @h-l-vlovesvintage @darknessdevil25 @mavkaorlova @astarborntowrite @karmaswitch @daughter1of2anita3dearly @zucchinimalfoy @madislayyy @weaponb33 @darlingisntit @deamus-liv @etheriaaly @clintsupremacy @spookyconsultingcriminal @dylanstilinskiposts

[bundoesnotcompete]

Jing Yuan x Reader is platonic. Intense Violence in this one. No one has a good time but only one person really dies. Reader gets turned into an Abundance Abomination. Edited errors on 11/2/24

The Alchemy Commission was overran with abundance beasts and the mara-struck. The betrayal of head alchemist Fang Zhu was leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. The Cloud Knights were barely holding a defensive line against the rampant beasts. Fang Zhu had done something to make them stronger, faster, more deadly. The cloud knights could not use anything that would cause mass destruction, there were still too many civilians alive in all the rubble. Jing Yuan had arrived with Jingliu to disaster on the defensive lines. Due to it being the only line against the abundance, she was quick to take control.

"Commander Xu, order the men to hold key choke points. Do not spread the knights out more then they are." Her direct command to the commander had him scrambling to fill them. After arriving to the command tent she was quick to turn to Jing Yuan. "I know you are worried about them, but you will listen to me when i say this. It will do you no good to run in there blind." Jing Yuan opened his mouth to defend himself but was cut off. "Do not take that as me doubting you. We need to get this line established first, maybe then we can send a scouting parties in there."

A young Jing Yuan nodded his head, "Yes, Shifu. What do I need to do?" Jingliu looked just past her student to see Baiheng and Dan Feng arriving.

"For now, help Commander Xu set the lines straight. Once that is done come back to the Command tent, we will dicuss any plans from there." Jing Yuan nodded and took off to where Commander Xu was barking orders. He just hoped his sibiling was able to get away from Fang Zhu. Jingliu stormed into the command tent, she had a bad feeling about this.

--------

Being paralyzed was an unpleasent experience. The sudden betrayal of you shifu had taken you by surprise. Any attempt to defend yourself was useless, the paralyzing agent had been in the drink she had given you this morning. It had started out a wonderful day. You had said your goodbyes to your brother and parents before heading to the alchemy commision. Then, your shifu had gotten you one of your favorite drinks before you both headed for the labs. Once you started feeling weak and off though, you had asked to go home, a request she denied. Instead, she had you sit in a nearby chair. She had gotten you a water and everything went worse from there.

The abundance traps she had laid out that morning were quick to turn civilians and knights alike into mindless beasts. When you had finally awoke from your roofied drink, it was too late to stop your shifu from her plans. Not only had she given you another dose of paralytics, but she had something else in mind for you. The Foxian lady turned to you from where she had been mixing something. She looked down at your prone form and gave a motherly smile. As she put her concoction into a syringe, you were unable to surpress your fear, tears quietly streaming down you face.

"Oh, let's not do that now. My dear student you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Don't cry or be afraid." She held the large syringe in her hand gently as she knelt beside you. Her soft, gentle hands caressed your face, the motherly smile never leaving her face. The distint sounds of battle were faintly heard from in the building. "Now my dearest, this will pinch. Don't worry, this will transcend you into a higher being. I know your scared, but all will be well." You could do nothing as she shoved the syringe into your throat. Firey hot pain coursed through you body as she injected her mixture and you quietly choked on your screams. The tears only falling harder from your eyes as the pain intesified.

In only a few short moments the mixture had destroyed the paralytics and you body and you were finally able to scream and writhe in pain. Thick antlers seemed to sprout from you skull and thick flowers grew from them. It seemed like you could hear and feel everything happening outside as the abdundance forces' minds seemed to link with your own. As you instinctively clawed at you chest to stop the main source of pain, you began to claw yourself open. Thick claw like nails had grown on your hands and in a futile attempt to stop the pain, you made it worse. As the pain only grew worse, you body began give out. Black dots had quickly taken your vision as you passed out.

-----

When you finally awoke it seemed like you were in a daze. Lashing out and killing anything that was near you. Fear was quickly overwhelming you. Why hasn't anyone come for you? Why hadn't Jing Yuan come for you? In a rational state of mind, you would've known that your brother couldn't just run into a battlefield to save you. You were terrified, your body didn't seem like you're own and the echoing of thousands of beings only added to your fear. They were scared too. Thick branches and trees took over buildings as you continued to rampage through the area. Footsteps ran behind you and you jerked around to see a Foxian woman. She looked relieved.

"There you are, oh I was so worried about you my disciple." Fear was quickly turning to rage, your recent memories cutting through the fog in your mind. She would pay for her betrayal and for what she did to you. You let her approach you and hug you. When you had buried your face into her neck, you bit down. The unnatural strength coursing through your body allowed you to hold her place as she fought and began to gurgle. In an angered state you ripped through her throat and shredded her with your claws like you were nothing more than an animal. Two sets of footsteps appeared bebind you and you dropped you former teacher's lifeless corpse on the ground, refusing to hug her anymore.

"Fuck, that's bad." As you turned, you saw the forms of two women. A white haired woman and a purple haired foxian woman. Something was screaming danger in you mind. You knew these women, why were you in danger? Distracted in your thoughts, you failed to notice the foxian woman readying her bow. The arrow shot through your eye and you held it, letting out a cry that seemed be a mixture between elk and human. Tearing out the arrow, you launched yourself at the pair with inhuman speed. Not matter what they threw at you, you kept regenerating. No matter what limb was cut off or where arrows pierced, you body kept regenerating. Jing Yuan wasn't coming for you, you knew you needed to fight.

"They aren't slowing down Jingliu!" The fox lady grunted mid sentence as she dodged your attacks, "What are we going to do?"

Boiling water hit you hard and you cried again. Two more people had joined the fight.

"Keep them distracted, we have to contain them!" Dan Feng had shouted as he joined the fight, Yingxing helping people from the nearby rubble. "We will freeze them. If they cannot be destroyed then we will have contain them!" More water continued to pelt you. The pain was unimaginable as you continured to grow trees and branches fighting the group. A fight that was tiring you. A familar voice rang out throughout the court yard you were fighting in.

"You have to stop fighting! Come to me! Your brother always has your back!" Jing Yuan's voice shouted to you. You faltered in you attacks and steps at the sound. He was here! He was finally here to protect you like he always did!

"What are you doing?" Jingliu's authoritive tone drug you back into the battle.

"Just trust me! Come here, I can help you." You turned to your brother's voice. Making the split second decision, you ran to him. Dodging any attacks you could, you flung yourself into your brother arms and hugged him. Tears falling down your face as he hugged you back. "Okay maybe not so tight that hurts." You loosening your grip and sobbed into him. Smearing blood and tears all over his armor. "Its okay, I've got you. Your safe with me."

"You are lucky they aren't feral right now. Are you insane?!" Jingliu's tone was scolding as she ran to you and your brother. Exhaustion was quickly taking you.

"Please don't leave me. You just now came for me. I don't want you to leave. Please. Please. Please. I'm so scared. Everything won't stop hurting." You begged your brother as your eyes began to droop. Your shaking didn't slow down. Your brother looked at you, baby-fat making him seem more childlike than he was acting. He was saying something to you, but you couldn't hear it as you went unconscious.

------

In what would later be dubbed as the Alchemical Outbreak of Abundance, you were unwillingly turned into a abomination. Being completely unkillable by any known standards, the Xianzhou Alliance agrees to put you into a coma-like state by filling your prison with gas sedatives. Though you would wake from time to time, you would remain largely docile. Unless guards provoked you, you would not attack most beings. Instead, the prison was slowly turned into a garden due to your abundence powers leaking. You found peace in the garden you were creating.

Jing Yuan was often called to visit if you were not being docile. Sometimes you got lucky and he would be there a few hours after you would wake. Those days were few and far between with his ever increasing duties. Unlike him, you did not have the opportunity to grow up and you were forever trapped in the body of a sixteen year old. If the Alliance allowed you to practice control over you abundance, prehaps you would be able to age yourself. The new form you found yourself in had shattered your mental state and you often found yourself willing sleeping if it meant not facing what you were.

Things had stagnated for hundreds of years until Jing Yuan had brought a young boy to your prison. The boy had very obviously been afraid of your appearence. Jing Yuan had introduced him as Yanqing, his retainer. After that, Jing Yuan's visits became rarer, but when he did visit, he brought Yanqing with him. You didn't mind Yanqing and enjoyed his child-like enthusiasm, even if he did seem like he couldn't decide on if he was a boy or a man with the way he behaved.

You hadn't woken in a long time when you felt it. Something was messing with the Arbor.

The soft song it typically sang had turned into deep irratation and anger within your mind. It was beginning to drive you mad. You needed out of this prison just so you could silenced whatever was messing with the arbor. It didn't take long before you finally decided to break free from your prison. The guards who tried to stop you were quickly killed in your attempt to escape. It was time to make your way to the arbor. You didn't care who you had to maim in order to get there. It would be worth the silence you would get in return.

[skull-fvcker]

I hope you had someone who loved you

❥ Yandere! Albert Wesker x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: Cross-posted from my AO3. I also edited it because it didn't seem as descriptive and understandable as I may have liked.

Summary: The buzz of a beautiful saw severs the tie to most relationships, but Wesker was determined to make sure it brings you closer to him. He loves you, after all. It's not the traditional type of love. But it is true and pure—and borderline unlawful.

Warnings: 3197 words, MDNI, kidnapping, amputation, obsessive behaviour, medical procedures, this is NOT romantic, unhealthy relationships, takes place during the Code Veronica era, wesker is insane

Drip...

Drip...

Drip...

"You're doing wonderful,"

You hear a gruff voice from a shadowy corner of your thoughts, the tone serene and comforting, a soft blanket of protection, "It's okay, this is what you wanted. You wanted this. To always be safe and protected," there is shifting, you feel someone shifting, alongside the sickening sound of rushing liquid. "Never trying to leave my side. No more struggling, just the way I intended. Nothing—no one—will ever hurt you again. You'll be home with me forever. You're doing incredible, I'm proud of you, dear." The person's words were beguiling. You knew that much. They sounded so familiar. A stern yet comforting voice.

More dripping. A silent roar of a device.

You were interrupted by a distant pause, causing a bitter buzzing sensation in your brain. White noise invaded your ears and pulsed painfully throughout your body. Yet the voice continued its gentle caress around your brain. "Do you want me to make the pain go away? You're doing so well. So obedient. Do you want me to make it go away?" Their voice was so honeyed and soothing, you couldn't help but feel a little better as your body grew listless, everything around you fading to black, the voice now sounding like it was in your ear, close enough to whisper charmingly to you. Weightless.

"Just say it, dear, just say you want me to make it go away."

The dull ache in your bones, the smouldering pain spreading throughout your body, made you want to say yes, yes, you wanted it to go away. Yes, it hurt. You weren't sure if you spoke, not even sure if you made a groan of acknowledgement to the person's voice who sounded like Wesker—was it Wesker? Sounded just like him—at least to your muddled brain. Maybe your head idled to the side. Maybe you did make a groaning noise. Though it felt like someone had laid your prone body on dozens, possibly hundreds, of the tips of nails. Did something happen? God, you couldn't remember anything.

Drip...

Drip...

A gasp was heard in response, the telltale sound of a medical instrument being carefully adjusted, meeting your hammering eardrums, your heart pounding in your throat. "Yes, yes—you want it to go away. You want me to make the pain go away. You trust me; well, of course, you do. You've no reason not to. I've got you, dearheart, I'll keep you safe now. Don't worry, I'll make it all go away soon, it'll be nothing more than a memory," The warmth in the voice grew as your consciousness began to fade away into dull static, your hearing giving way to bitter nothingness.

"Just a memory."

You weren't sure how much time passed before you woke up, but it had to have been a long time. You felt tired, almost numb as you slowly opened your eyes to feel a bright light on the ceiling above pulsating through your retinas. The room you woke up in was familiar in a way, of course, it was. It was a hospital room of sorts, you recall. You had spent many nights in places like these, and after a few minutes of trying in vain to move, you couldn't move your legs below the knees anymore, nor could you feel them, not even in the slightest. It was as if you were paralyzed.

That shadowy figure is in your peripheral again, just barely out of reach.

"Look at you—" A voice came from a corner near you, your name feeling like a cruel mockery. It seemed so similar to the voice you heard before, but you shelved that thought. Wesker and that person sounded so similar. "It seems like you had another little fright, hm? We can't let you move about too much. No, no, we can't," A comforting, gloved, yet rough hand laid itself right at the side of the bed you lie in, fingers curling at the thinly veiled blanket that covered your body. "You might tear your stitches. Your dressings."

At first, you strained to move, but you came to realise that you could not. The buzz inside your head and the hunger to escape was nothing more than a distant memory at this point. Yet, the voice was so comforting that you felt like you could lean into the touch. Was this heaven, were you dead? So many words rushed through your head, and even then, you couldn't even begin to vocalise them.

"I am aware, this is all so new to you. It’ll be okay, try not to worry yourself," the voice spoke soothingly as he came into view. You recognized him with a mix of terror and relief, as you saw that it was none other than Wesker, his hands moving towards you from the side of the bed, his sunglasses-clad eyes shining beneath the lenses, filled with gloom. He looked wary like he always did, but there was an underlying sense of excitement behind his amber eyes. As he felt lively. But you knew better. "I know, I know, you're never going to have to walk on those... legs of yours again. So much for walking away from conversations, no?"

You felt your breath begin to heave, the sound of your heart sinking into a pit in your stomach. "What," A sharp glance at Wesker left you breathless. You then prop yourself up on your elbows, beginning to peel the blanket off of your body. "Oh, my God." The words left your throat as quickly as they came, a shock sending a painful sense of dread and horror down your spine. Your legs. No wonder you couldn't feel them from the knee down. "I—I c... I can't..." The words caught themselves in your throat. Whichever feeling of relief was left inside was now substituted with the sickening sense of terror and aforementioned dread.

Your legs.

"It's okay, I told you it would all go away," he shrugged, his smile still showing excitement as he grinned wistfully at you, "Now I never have to worry about you running away. I shall rule with you by my side," he declares as he sat down beside you, his hand reaching out to tenderly stroke your hair, "I must say, you look simply stunning just like this. It's almost as if this is exactly how you were always meant to be." Wesker never followed human rules. Despite this, he spoke to you as an equal, and you felt comfortable confiding in him because he was an authority figure. A superior. He never spoke to you as if you were a child who had scraped their knees. As the dread sets in, Wesker pulls his shades from his face, exposing the snake-like eyes beneath, staring at you as if you were a prized jewel, though you cannot focus on that when there is a more important affair at hand.

They were chopped off.

"W...why—" You stare in horror, lifting one of your thighs, which you could thankfully do, staring at the bandage on your knees. "Why are they..." The words left you, the situation, the realisation sinking deep inside your chest. "I can't... they're gone," The shock and dismay spun around your heart and laid heavy upon your soul as you stared at what Wesker had done to your body. The mess he made of your perfectly capable limbs. The gentle woven pattern of the stitches that circled near what used to be your kneecaps, coated in the golden-brown substance of an antiseptic. The craftsmanship of the stitches and stables was spectacular—the pain was little to none, yet your brain was so foggy that you could barely even properly react to the situation at hand. Only muted gasps and short breaths.

"Hydromorphone," Wesker suddenly uttered, a surprisingly gentle hand resting on your upper thigh. "An opioid much stronger than morphine. Perfect for excruciating pain after limb amputation." The tight-lipped smile barely twitched, yet refused to leave his face. "However, mental fog is a symptom..."

Wesker was your companion—a superior, yes, though, there was mutual trust. That was what you thought, anyway. Trust can only bring you so far, and it’s so easily misplaced. A quiet yet sharp man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Someone confident in his actions. A man that you knew little to nothing about, rather than his military experience—his words, not yours—and knowledge on all the things you did not. And yet here you were, dazed out of your mind with a dull sensation in what was left of your legs, that he stole from you for a reason that you would probably never know. Your ears began to buzz painfully, your eyes staring directly at the stubs that were now your kneecaps.

"Don't look at me like that. The only thing they were causing was problems, and problems need to be fixed, dear," he said as he pulled his hand from your thigh, allowing it to gently pat your head, but there was a firmness to it, "I told you I'd fix it, and I did." he buzzes with that same thin-lipped smile, "You look so much better like this. I don't know what you think you're going to miss. Your friends, you say? Family? Why, you have me. You’ll do just fine, I assure you."

Wesker spoke as if this was a completely normal thing to do. Was he trying to convince you, or rather, himself?

Shakily, the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them, "Did you do this? Did—did you remove my legs? Did..." Your voice trailed off as the awful truth began to resonate deep within your brain, spewing out its painful reality and forcing you to take hold of the situation in full force. There was no way around it. Wesker forcibly removed your legs.

"There, there," he shushes, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, "No need for tears. As much as I adore you in all your emotions, you were always just so theatrical..." His voice was frigid, but his eyes seemed much gentler, "You don't need your legs," he tuts, moving his hand to gently caress your cheek, "You don't need anything else, you just need me."

You weren't sure if you were crying or not, but your vision was suddenly blurry with the telltale sign of tears. At this revelation, the cold tone washes over Wesker’s voice again. "You know it pains me to see you cry," a pout. "Don't you remember?" The words in which he spoke were followed by a short gasp, his voice soft and satisfied as he gently caressed your cheek. Wesker stayed quiet for a couple of moments as if to let his words sink in.

But the fact remained, you didn't remember a thing. Not a single comprehensible thought pierced through your head like a bullet. The only thought that stayed was the fact that a bed you would’ve once felt comforted by now lay beneath you like a tomb, like a coffin, dragging you down into the cushions. It was suffocating you, and yet you felt consoled by it despite your brain screaming at you not to feel soothed. Without much of a second thought, your fingers trailed down your thighs, the muscles tensing up as you drew closer to the site of amputation, the skin becoming dense and tingly, no doubt from whatever pain meds—Hydromorphone, or whatever he called it—Wesker had you on.

Had you been stupid, you’d genuinely believe that he was a doctor.

As if reading your mind, Wesker spoke up. "I already told you, I'll take your misery, I'll preserve you, and you won't ever need to feel anything sinful. Just you and me—once I have the world in my hands, of course," he said as his hand slowly travelled down to meet your chin, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, filling with an unnerving smile, "You will adjust accordingly. I know that you will—you’re smart. It’s why I chose you, after all." His soft caresses continued despite his morbid words that sank into your spine. It made you want to get up and run, and yet, you knew you no longer had the luxury to do such a thing anymore.

You just wanted this to be over already, to fall asleep and wake up and discover that this was all nothing more than a nightmare. You were impatient, but Wesker adored this part—the anticipation, the teasing. Yes, he wanted to make you feel happy and protected, yet the fear was something he relished. This was something that was meant to happen; you were always meant to be like this. Wesker set his hand right above the stitches on your kneecaps, the corners of his eyes wrinkling to form crow's feet. He seemed proud of his work, circling the deep incisions and the fragile skin being pressed together. The silence was deafening as he wrapped gauze around the numb flesh.

So gentle in his ministrations, aware that one wrong move could burst apart your healing wounds.

As you two stood—clever choice of words for you, wasn't it?—there in silence, staring into each other's eyes, an unspoken battle of wills took place. You were the first to realise you were at a standstill, the silent acceptance washing over your curved spine. Slow resignation settled in the air, and a tense silence took over. The tension in the air was so thick that not even the strongest of military-grade combat knives could slice it in half. Ironic.

For a moment, Wesker’s facial expression began to darken, and he seemed bitter, but it changed so quickly that you admittedly thought that your brain was just playing tricks on you. His brows knit together, the wrinkle between them collecting a drop of sweat that dripped down his nose. The eyebags that hung below his blonde lashes hid a life that you would never be able to comprehend. "I did it for you," his voice is laced with a growl. "Yes. I love you. I always have. Did you know that? Hmm, I don't think you did. I don't think you ever cared to notice." Wesker’s eyes stared—the thin, narrow pupils that were reminiscent of a viper, or relatively, a feline, intermixed with the amber hues of his irises that blended into a deeper shade of red and yellow—at you with the utmost of love and adoration as if he hadn't just robbed you of something you held dear. 

His words held little to no truth to them and showed nothing but the grotesque being that shone beneath the fragile and scarred layers of his skin. "I put you here because I'm selfish, and I'm scared I'm going to lose you." He seemed to be holding back, the words unspoken but heavy on his tongue. And yet, instead, his next comments threw you through a loop.

"This is just the beginning, dear," Wesker’s bare thumb gently caressed your cheekbone as he shuddered, a sneering smile overtaking his stern features. If this were a different situation, you would've leaned into his touch and offered him your very own smile. "There is more awaiting you. And I believe," He pauses, averting his gaze, his lips parting as his wet tongue darts between them to wet his cracked skin. "I believe you're going to adore what I’ll do next. I will let you heal, of course, but—" Wesker’s fingers fall from your cheek to your coxae, his other hand joining as he grasps at your hips gently. "You will only know me. Everything will be me—us. It sounds magnificent, wouldn't you agree?"

It was almost like an unspoken admission of your place. Your very humanity is being stripped away and discarded like some sort of animal, a prized possession—cattle. Wesker drilled you this hole, a cavity barely deep enough to reach your abdomen, and yet you can't see the light at the top, so you drown in the shallow water that pools around you.

"What are you—" The words come out so shakily, quivering breaths and tensed muscles. "What are you going to do to me, Albert?" Some tears threatened to fall but no matter how hard you tried, they just refused to come. You still felt drowsy, your limbs heavy on both body and heart. Nothing but worry and disgust flowed through every limb—or lack thereof—like an unforgiving rush of water. You never truly know how good things are until they're gone.

In response to your words, however, Wesker grins while the corners of his eyes barely wrinkle. He looked like he was about to burst into fits of laughter, which was rare for such a stoic man. Wesker seldom had profound bouts of mirth. It was as if what you said was incomprehensible and not what one would consider English. Wesker was mocking you even if he thought he wasn't, the shift of his legs was a cruel mockery of something that you now lacked. Despite Wesker’s smile, it soon fell to a slight frown, the flare of his nostrils being an undeniable show of aggression. A couple of moments pass, and he looks away with a sigh, wetting his lips with his tongue.

The dull static in the back of your head returned once more. Everything screamed in you to escape the comfortable prison of bed. Time is not on your side nor is the universe. The world around you melts like wax in a furnace, everything slowly becoming twisted and corrupted. The tingling is almost blinding in what's left of your legs.

You can't escape.

It seemed as though he could sense the trepidation emanating from every pore of your body, and so Wesker’s caress on your cheek became even more temperate, it made you feel as if something was going to happen. Something that would permanently rewrite your brain chemistry. "Don't fret," he silences, "Please, my dear. You'll feel so much better once you just accept me." A rough hand reaches down to the bandages around your thighs. "Trust me. Don't you trust me?" His grip was comforting, but you knew better than to be comforted by this sad excuse for a man.

His eyes search yours for any hint of disobedience, sealing in your fate with a gentle caress.

"I will make you perfect. Only then will you be able to fit faultlessly into my vision of a utopia." His voice comes with a mischievous lilt. With an assertive tilt of his head and a determined quirk of his brow, he began to lean in even closer, further invading your personal space.

"Don't, please don't do this—" Your pleas fell upon deaf ears as all he did to soothe you was rub his calloused thumb against your cheekbone while he gently whispered words of encouragement. Was he trying to comfort you, or was he trying to comfort himself, you wonder. This entire situation was sick and twisted. His comforting words would once be something that you'd find solace in, but now it's something that made you feel sick to your stomach. “Just let me go—”

"Just breathe for me. And stay still, would you?"

[sysmedsaresexist]

Hi! I,, have a question with some specific context that could, potentially, spark some conversation.

I’d say its relatively important to the context to note that I’m also a dx DID system, but im an anon, so take of that what u will.

When our system’s body was around 11-12, our system’s host “created” an alter. Basically like the host had an active role in creating him as opposed to, idk, a regular split or something. What we do know is that this headmate/alter of dubious origin, has fronted in traumatic times and took role as primary protector for years until our current primary protector was reintroduced to the host through therapy. It was also how the host established communication internally with “the actual” system so early, before we knew we were a system.

My only question here is would that be considered “endogenic” origins for a headmate? By all means, we are DID system, and only split based on traumas and survival, but *literally* only this headmate/alter has caused internal conflict for the system, but especially the host who created him (and is still around).

The host originally believed that, when we were first diagnosed, there was absolutely no way that we could have DID because of the active creation of that singular alter, which our psychologist acknowledged, but pointed out otherwise, thru a slew of, like, legitimate reasons (its 12am and we leave for a trip soon, my wording isn’t great, but for some reason, I just cant *not* write this ask).

I, unnamed alter in the system, am wondering if active creation in an alter is possible? I guess in general? It was entirely a form of survival for ourselves at the time to make the alter/headmate of dubious origin, he was what the system needed at that time, but we wonder what terminology we would use for him, or what he would be considered, community wise ig. To be blunt, its almost a validation thing in a way.

Our system is anti-endo. We dont believe systems can form from anything other than trauma in formative years, but the active creation thing seems??? Not a normal experience and maybe, like, invalidating to our existence??? We have alters from before he existed, but he was like our ground zero in communication. The alter that helped “bridge the gap”. The host loves him, and he loves the host. They were attached at the hip until the diagnosis because his existence felt inherently invalidating BUT thats not the point and more venting

TLDR ;

The host actively made a dude in our head who ended up being a main factor in our survival at the time but because the host *actively made* the dude, as opposed to “normal splitting”, does that make him inherently “endogenic”?

Hi, that's normal! And anyone who says otherwise can fight me. Thank you for sending this, it's really not talked about enough.

CDD systems can and do "create" alters, though it's typically not quite that simple once you get into the subconscious.

Firstly, once the development of the sense of self is interrupted in childhood, you've already completed the step that "tulpamancers" are trying to learn. Personally, I don't believe it's possible to dissociate to that extent once the sense of self is developed (I think they're already highly prone to dissociative tendencies, take from that what you will), but CDD systems are already ten steps into the process and it's not out of the realm of possibility (and in fact, it's highly reported) that CDD systems frequently create alters in a number of different ways, including processes similar to willing and creating alters into existence. People with DID already dissociate really good, it's not shocking that we would be able to will a new member into existence with enough thought and pressure. We're just not thinking of it as something similar to endogenic or created alters until it's pointed out, or we understand that there's something deeper at play.

But that's active creation, and now we get into:

"If there's a need, the brain will supply."

This is more based on the personal interpretation of alters in the process of becoming aware, but can be applied to brand new alters.

One general interpretation is based in denial and a feeling of a lack of control, and is similar to active creation.

It's extremely easy to convince yourself that you did this, purposefully and with intent. That you chose systemhood and that you chose to create this alter. CDDs are caused by factors entirely outside of our control, and people will look for, and find, a sense of control in any way possible.

Including telling yourself that you're doing something consciously, even when you're not (loosely based on the same idea as this).

Which came first, the fragment or the need? Was there already a fragment floating around that you helped to pick a name and appearance, and that contained traits that you needed, whether you consciously knew you needed those traits in your system or not? Or did you realize you needed those things, and a fragment came forward to pick up the role?

It doesn't help that alters can be created from overwhelming situations (not just traumatic situations), and the brain is notoriously bad at letting you know when you're stressed and overwhelmed. Not only that, but alters can take years to make themselves known, making it impossible to pinpoint their creation (unless they know, but they usually don't).

So did you really pick that name? That trait? Or was it already there?

The second interpretation is simply misinterpretation.

I have an alter that took a liking to an OC and became that. Again, which came first, the character or the alter? Does it matter? Was I writing based on an alter that already existed but that I couldn't communicate with? Or did a fragment take a liking to the character and traits? Did I look at those traits and think, "I could really use that right now," and my brain agreed? It would be very easy to misinterpret the entire situation to mean that I created this alter, either by complete accident or purposefully, consciously or unconsciously. Where do we draw the line at "created" alters? Does it need to be active creation? Or creation after the fact based on ideas that you liked and wanted? Did you know you wanted them?

--

Mod Quill here to mention something: I also have "created" parts. Again, incredibly normal in CDDs. I also have friends with DID who have parts that "came from God" or "walked in" -- and out of all of those parts, they are all traumagenic, because that's how they choose to see themselves.

The fact that the alter is created doesn't make him endogenic, because based on your description, he's still forming due to the trauma that you've experienced. Now, if you want to call him endogenic, because of the creation process, I don't think anyone's going to stop you -- but you shouldn't ever feel the need to label your alters in that way. You are a DID system, simply put, and regardless of the individual causes of splits, you formed from trauma. You should only be labeling the individual splits if you find that helpful for your recovery.

This alter's creation doesn't invalidate your diagnosis, your trauma, or your system in any single way. It's incredibly common, and I fear that syscourse has made it seem like it has to be an endo thing, when it isn't in the slightest.

------

Thank you to Quill for bringing this back to the most important point. Don't let anyone dictate how you define your system and alters. So long as you're happy and healthy, who cares. That's literally the only thing that matters.

I want to make it very clear that it's not just alter creation that confuses systems, but alters seemingly not connected to trauma at all appearing suddenly or randomly, alters that wake up and immediately go back into dormancy (walk in/out), etc. These are all things that can appear to be endogenic, or mixed origin, but if the basis of your system, the reason you have a system in the first place, is trauma, then everything ties back to that, in the end, and in one way or another.

How you personally interpret your experiences and members, and the labels you use, are uniquely yours.

[paradoxcase]

Chapter 36 of Harrow the Ninth

I've spent most of Saturday entering 145 of my ~200 sims into a new family tree program, which is sort of like the mental equivalent of stimming, but I think it's time to take a break and do more Locked Tomb liveblog

The symbol on this chapter is, I gather, meant to be a Herald, or possibly something else that's resurrection-beast-adjacent. Also, we are at one week before the prologue, now, if we can trust these chronological notes

Harrow has an absolutely massive case of Former "Gifted Child" syndrome, but she's only 18

She's one week away from probably dying while fighting a resurrection beast and she's way more worried about who is betraying John. It's also interesting how she compares her various experiences to decide whether or not something was a hallucination

I kind of wonder if at some point she is going to come to the conclusion that BOE can perform resurrections, since she saw three apparently resurrected (based on her memories of them) people, who claimed to be with BOE, or if that would be too sacrilegious an idea for her

First of all, what does "G" stand for in "J. G."? If John has a cavalier, I'd expect it to be A.L., or possibly the soul of Earth, not someone whose name starts with G

Second of all, why do they have callsigns? The purpose of callsigns (at least in ham radio, anyway) is to uniquely identify each individual radio geek, communicate their position in the radio geek hierarchy (and thus what frequencies they have access to, etc.), identify where they are from, and be relatively short because Morse Code is pretty verbose. But they are communicating in spoken language here, there's no reason for them to use Morse Code or a similar system, so there's no reason for them to shorten their names. Also, if this really is meant to be English, enunciating single letters over radio in English is notoriously prone to miscommunication due to how similar a lot of letter names sound, and for the purpose of being clear while doing this the NATO phonetic alphabet was invented, if you're actually going to do a radio thing in spoken language, you should be saying "Juliet Golf" instead of "J. G.", etc. Anyway, in addition to all this, this system is not even guaranteed to create a unique callsign for each Lyctor, it happens that all of these are unique, but that's just an accident. Goddammit, this pisses me off and I'm not even a real radio geek, I was just raised by radio geeks

So I'm guessing the resurrection beast/herald fear aura is directly related to guilt over the indelible sin, which makes sense if they specifically pursue people who committed the indelible sin. I believe when they were discussing how BOE hunted down a herald in order to make it into herald bullets (which I now retroactively realize means that BOE must use guns) they said that it affected all necromancers, so I wonder if it's more generally about gaining power from death

Also "it knows what you did to its kin", maybe referring to John consuming the soul of Earth? Or locking it in the Tomb? I'm not sure anymore

I mean, I think the Body going away probably has to do with the resurrection beast and not with Harrow, but haha, poor Harrow

You know, I've heard non-Americans complain that saying "Not!" after a sentence in this way is an Americanism, so I'm surprised to see this here. Or maybe it's only here to emphasize how grating Mercy's lecture is?

Is this a reference to the "it's for a church, honey, next!!" lady?

I know this is supposed to be a "Mercy is not fun at parties" thing, but honestly I feel this

I was curious how far that actually was, it turns out that is 33 and a half astronomical units. Yeah, that's pretty far away

That 2,000 kilometers is a mere 1 2.5 millionth of the total distance of 5 billion kilometers, though. I would think just covering that whole distance in a reasonable amount of time would be harder? Supposedly they don't have access to the stele system out here

This is the "Sex Pal" moment of this book, isn't it? I have no actual idea if John is lying about the peanuts or not, but I love the idea of Mercy just fuming over this one peanut incident for a significant part of 10,000 years

Also, the way describes this fantasy exchange between her and John feels like a bible story to me. Is it just me?

Ok, so this is interesting, because Number One has been mentioned, which means that if the beasts are numbered according to the way the Houses are numbered, then Earth can't be the missing beast. Previously we had only heard about Two, Six, Seven, and Eight, now we are up to One, Two, Four, Six, Seven, and Eight, which leaves Three, Five, and Nine. John said at the beginning of the book that there were three left to defeat, one of which is obviously Seven, and I guess the remaining two are Three, Five, or Nine. I wonder if the beasts are instead numbered based on their order from the sun, which would make Earth Three? That would make Seven actually be Uranus, which does match up with the 50,000 kilometer in diameter number from earlier, but I thought the point of that number was that the resurrection beast was supposed to be bigger than the original planet?

Does north/east/south/west even have any meaning in space, or in the River, without the presence of a magnetic field? I mean, the resurrection beast is a planet, so it might have a magnetic field, but we've established that they will not be attacking its actual body

Is this actually some missing information about what the fuck Mercy's powers even have to do with the rest of the Eighth House, or is Augustine just saying things to be saying things?

I wonder if it actually turns out to be something different, seeing as John literally has no intel on it

Also, you definitely do believe in sin, like, I don't think the concept of sin is necessarily universal across all religions, but it's definitely a big part of this one, necrophilia has been mentioned as a sin, we also have the indelible sin, and Mayonnaise Uncle definitely seemed to feel like some things were sins back in Gideon the Ninth

[theoreticallycatholic]

Day One: Genesis 1-3

4/22/24

I was gonna read through chapter 4 but this post was getting pretty long already so I decided to stop here. I did say I was prone to rambling...

Definitely not going to go this in-depth every single time 😅 my 12th grade Sacred Scripture class just happened to spend a lot of time on the Creation narrative so I have a lot of previous knowledge I want to share.

Genesis 1

Looking through my 12th grade theology notes on the creation narrative, I have a table there that looks like this:

Realm | Ruler Time | Sun, moon, stars Space | Birds Life | Land animals Sabbath | Man

I wish I had taken more in-depth notes. I feel like there should be much more to say on this but I can't elaborate. I think I understand what that means but not enough to explain it. Although, thinking of the sun, moon and stars as being created to "rule" light makes the idea of light being created before the sun make a little more sense to me.

"God said, 'let the earth produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and fruit trees, each bearing fruit of its own kind within it." Gen 1:11

Okay, maybe slightly off-topic, but I've always wondered if there were any foods that Jesus didn't like. Because I mean, he's God, so he created them, but he's also human, so I would assume that maybe that means he had the human experience of having certain foods he didn't care for. Did he ever eat a vegetable as a kid and then go "why did I make this"?

"God said, 'let us make man in our own image, in the likeness of ourselves, and let them be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven, the cattle, all the wild animals and all the creatures that creep along the earth.' Gen 1:26

Let US make man in OUR own image, in the likeness of OURSELVES. I never noticed that before. I thought it might just be this translation but I went and checked RSV and NAB and they both say that as well. Is God referring to himself as the trinity? All the way back in Genesis chapter 1? Or...am I just...thinking too hard about it?

This is one of the scenarios where I wish I could understand Hebrew because I want to go and read this passage in the original Hebrew. I'm marking this verse to come back to later.

Also, my favorite explanation of the Trinity and the one that makes the most sense to me is this: if human beings are made of a body, soul, and a will, and they are made in God's image, then God is also made of a body, soul, and a will—with Jesus as the body, the Father as the soul, and the Holy Spirit as the will.

Genesis 2

"But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you are not to eat; for the day you eat of that you shall die." Gen 2:17

From the footnotes: Eating from this tree means usurping the divine privilege of deciding what is good and what is evil; the temptation is to proud independence, questioning God's judgement of good and evil.

This is indeed the way the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was explained to me in 12th grade, which I am thankful for because it used to be so confusing to me when I was younger. I thought it meant that eating from the tree would grant the ability to tell the difference between good and evil, and I could never understand how that would be a bad thing.

It also makes perfect sense because it seems the root of practically all problems in society is that everyone has their own ideas about what constitutes moral goodness. Even as a bad Catholic who struggles to wrap her head around her own faith I cringe every time I hear the "you have your truth, I have mine" line.

"The LORD God said, 'It is not good that the man should be alone. I shall make him a helper as a partner.'" Gen 2:18

My mom quotes this verse whenever my dad does something dumb.

"Then the LORD God made the man fall into a deep sleep. And while he was asleep, he took one of his ribs and closed up the flesh in its place. The LORD God built the rib he had taken from the man into a woman, and brought her to the man." Gen 2:21-22

According to my theology teacher, the ancient Hebrews believed the soul was contained in the chest/lungs and that the rib protected the soul; so Even being formed from a rib means women are built to be protectors of the soul..? Or...something like that. Again, I wish I'd taken more thorough notes.

There was also this thing I heard from somewhere else about how calling women inferior to men because Eve was created from a piece of Adam is dumb, because the pattern of creation is that each new thing God created was better than the last, and Eve was the last thing he created. But that sounds like a point a radical feminist would make so I'm sure that wasn't the whole explanation haha because I'm fairly certain the speaker was a conservative Catholic man.

Genesis 3

"Now, the snake was the most cunning of all the wild animals that the LORD God had made. It asked the woman, 'Did God really say you were not to eat from any of the trees in the garden?'" Gen 3:1

I have always wondered why the devil is portrayed this way and that's still something I don't quite understand.

From the footnotes: In Hebr., 'snake' and 'dragon' are the same word; the dragon will lose its proud stance and become wormlike.

If we're imagining the serpent in the garden as not a tiny talking snake, but a giant monstrous serpent, it's sort of weird that Adam just...lets it chat with his wife. Because he was standing right there—

"She also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate it." Gen 3:6

Another thing my theology teacher said: "Every covenant failure begins with a man failing to stand up for his bride."

"Then the eyes of both of them were opened and they realized they were naked. So they sewed fig leaves together to make themselves loincloths." Gen 3:7

I have a few things to say about this verse. The first is just that I've heard the tree of the knowledge of good and evil is believed to be a fig tree, both because it mentions Adam and Eve sew together fig leaves here and also because of that one passage in the New Testament where Jesus curses a fig tree.

Also, I noticed that the very first thing that happened after committing original sin was that Adam and Eve felt shame and immediately began to hide themselves from God.

I think there has to be some significance to their being ashamed of their naked bodies, something that relates to how throughout history human sexuality has been perverted, but it's not something I can put into words right now.

"He said, 'Who told you that you were naked? Have you been eating from the tree from which I forbade you to eat?' The man replied, 'The woman you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate it.'" Gen 3:11

This was something else I heard: obviously God already knew that they ate from the tree; what he is doing here is giving them the chance to confess. Like, as in the sacrament of reconciliation, I think.

Also, Adam immediately pointing fingers at his wife like a kid trying to get out of a punishment. Very classy of him. Eve also tries to blame the serpent but I feel like it's a little worse that Adam tries to blame her, since they are supposed to be partners who love and protect each other.

"'I shall put enmity / between you and the woman, / and between your offspring and hers; / he will bruise your head / and you will strike his heel.'" Gen 3:15

First of all, does anyone know why verses 14-19 are written in this format that's reminiscent of books like Psalms and Isaiah?

Secondly—although, this is probably common knowledge so I probably don't need to say this here—

The woman's offspring = Jesus

He will bruise your head = Jesus will triumph over sin

You will strike his heel = At the same time, he will suffer and die

Okay! So, that was Genesis chapters 1 through 3. This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would be. Again, please do not expect this level of detail from me through this whole series. 😅

The thing is, I find this stuff fascinating and I can talk about it like this but when it comes to actually believing it I have such a hard time wrapping my head around it. Even with everything I learned in that class there's still so much I don't understand.

I suppose there will always be things I don't understand, because there are things that we don't even have definite answers to. And those are the gaps that faith is supposed to fill.

Here's one of the stupid questions I have that I mentioned in my first post: does reciting prayers make a difference?

Right now I especially struggle with prayer and reciting prayers such as the Our Father is the only way I feel I'm capable of praying right now. But it doesn't feel like anything. It just feels like me saying words, even if I try to reflect on what they mean. Should I still say them anyway? What value does it have if I don't feel like I'm actually connecting with God?

Thank you to anyone who actually took the time to read this whole thing (if anyone did, that is...) and especially thank you to the support I have already received. I feel welcomed :)

[pwblogarchive]

November 2007

November 2, 2007

"our smiles are just a commercial for how normal we are"

the idea of protecting would imply that there is some possession-

a toast implies change.

noone toasts normals days

or gutter heads.

i swear to god i have come to love some of you so dearly.

i count on you to get me by.

but i have begun to wonder about my contribution to life

i want to go to school.

i want to move far away.

im scared.

but only of god and a witness stand.

im not sure how much longer i want to do this if it doesnt mean anything-

i need a push a sign something that puts me back on course.

if i go for it you tell me i shouldnt have.

if i lay and wait you think i dont care.

i want to believe so badly.

morning is just a cold shower for dreams.

broke the little bone on top of my foot.

oh well i am so accident prone, i owed the universe some marrow.

not gonna back out on you.

3rd time in an mri this year.

there is no room colder or smaller.

there is something about the repetitive clicking that gives me visions.

i really feel for people who truly have to go through this on a daily basis or need crutches everyday of their life. honestly it is humbling for me.

and i probably needed that humility.

thanks for your understanding.

the painkillers and pride have my head in a bit of a tangle.

help me unwind it.

is there a song you count on every time?

i swear by the baxters

and the dropouts who only kept the books and the freshman fifteen

awake inside someone elses dream

alone in someone elses throne

gift wrapped wasp nest

blue ribbon jealousy contest

cant make everyone in the world unhappy all of the time

theres no glory on the road

its just a quick way to make you old

theres a new order

my disorders

i am just a sweettooth in the cavity search of life

Posted by xoat 1:24 AM

November 13, 2007

“this machine kills fascists”

after the pornstar john holmes career deflated he turned to showing up at LAX and stealing peoples bags off of the conveyor belt.

i watched someone do this to me at the airport today.

i am obsessed with the change that can turn in the world.

sometimes the message is more important than the art.

i need him more than he needs me, he needs her more than he needs me and so on.

theres nothing new under the sun

but were reading on existentialism in the shade.

i am so in love with the idea

if it werent for that i am not sure where i would turn.

i guess this is another halfhearted thank you. just because you keep tuning in.

"dont you think its insane how donald duck never wears pants?"

life is better when youre around.

but yes i do think its insane.

Posted by xoat 1:27 AM

November 15, 2007

“a sketch of Chicago in words.”

afternoon rhythmic no sleep dream.

body rigid.

mind convulsing.

i went scanning thru frequencies as my eyelids stuck shut.

reminds me of the first time the emt's gave birth to me.

or back to me.

whats the difference between a vision and a hallucination is simply whos giving the diagnosis.

the visions were so bright they burnt shadows on the inside of the room.

were a wagon party.

i see the world in slow motion.

theres shivering everywhere.

too cold outside, too hot inside.

fall has stolen the country from here.

sleep never comes naturally anymore.

boys playing men in flannel shirts-

homage or parody of what once was.

whos gonna be left when its all and done?

im exploding just too slowly for anyone to take notice.

Posted by xoat 2:19 AM

November 15, 2007

“maybe we should feed our jewelry to the sea”

from current occupation: selling fire in hell by xo

mid tour crisis got everybodys heads troubled.

new panic at the disco songs are settling.

cant sleep so we wrote a lullabye.

you probably wont ever hear it unless we end up at a campfire together:

honey is for bees, silly bear

besides theres jelly beans everywhere

its not what it seems, in the land of dreams

dont worry your head just go to sleep

doesnt matter how you feel

lifes just a ferris wheel

its always up and down, dont make a sound

when you wake up the world will come around

its just sweet weather and peacock feathers

in the morning itll all be better

dont worry your head just go to sleep.

November 17, 2007

“the only thing suicidal here are the doors.”

weve been indoctrinated to crave the idea of the extraordinary ordinary

we accept the blogs and camera phones as mediums, not as in the transfer of information, but more closely defined to the idea of the spiritual medium...- as the prophets, the eye and pyramid on the dollar bill

we are just flies on the wall watching a culture have a nervous breakdown.

everyone is born between may 22 and june 22, even if theyre not- we are a gemini generation. we love to hate everything in other people that we hate about ourselves.

arrogantly insecure and vice versa.

and life lately is just always about the spins and collateral damage.

sometimes the snow and ground frost shut us both down

in love with the idea of permanent impermanence.

so careful of stuttered over articulation, as though saying the word better would somehow make it mean more.

the worlds worst kind of diary.

i wish i could pull the pause button off of every electronic gadget in my home- i despise it so.

strangely fulfilled by the idea of loving strangers and hating my friends.

how there had to be an inkling in the head of neal armstrong to just stay on the moon and wait for the air to run out, besides the fact thats what we are all doing sort of in the long run only he'd have a better view.

Posted by xoat 1:49 AM

November 22, 2007

“i think this is a bit of an overestimation.”

ill need to take up gardening or something if im gonna be around this long.

Posted by xoat 3:22 AM

[ofsupernovcs]

☆ﾟ.*・ ◞nana komatsu/ female / japanese /she/they ——— is that NAGISA ABE  on bourbon street ? the TWENTY SIX  year old WITCH who stays in the CENTRAL DISTRICT ?  they are notoriously known for being COMPASSIONATE AND CALMING  but also REACTIVE AND HEADSTRONG. which is probably why they are considered THE BUNNY EARED LAWYER around town.  i wonder if they had their tarot cards reading, yet? either way, the cards on the table will reveal their fate soon enough

triggers: death bed discussions in the beginning dialogue and one bullet point

ctrl + F Death bed over and next point to skip

(death bed tw) "Nagisa I lament to tell you this so late in life. But you are not like your siblings.I only hope you don't tap it my little star."

"Grandma! Tap what! Tell me."

"You are a miko nova.... the seventh daughter in the seventh generation of a japanese witches." (death bed tw)

Death bed over

Nagisa Nova Abe was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. It would be behest not to acknowledge it.

Nova is the youngest of the Abe siblings. If her older siblings possesses the beauty and finesses, the Nova was the "plain-sibling". The title stuck as her hair was stuffed into a baseball cap.

But perhaps that was a blessing when she met (wanted connection) a person she noticed always got injured. She pulled person away for a while to help her with whatever excuse she can muster

Nova to the best of her efforts just wanted to make sure they were safe, much to the chagrin of her siblings

When the curse reared its ugly head Nova tried to rationalise everything, maybe it was fluke, an accident, maybe they were in a better place.

Sleepless nights she started to rationalise everything, dunking a basketball in hopes whatever was going on would stop.

(death bed tw) Her grandmother watched her around that time, teaching her the family secrets only she knew. Her grandmother never explained why as her dying breath she said "Shine bright Nova." (death bed tw)

Next point For a while she felt lost, maybe more prone to the darkness New Orleans can bring

"With my frizzy hair and graphic tees people find me unserious. What have I been called by people. Beautiful and careless? Stuck up. Conceited. A nepo baby that takes things for granted . Is that what my coworkers whisper when I'm not around.*Sigh* My looks always cause me so many problems."

But that didn't stifle Nova, in fact it drove her to want to become a nurse, someone who isn't standing on the sidelines.

Her beauty grown as well, being nicknamed the dazzling nurse heart breaker, much to her chagrin.

It didn't help being one of the smarter ones there. Performance Punishment while others took credit for her work

But beneath her beauty is a deadly secret, having the ability to chi block and read chi

There were many who tried but only saw the heiress or the beauty. To invest or try to fuck. It wore her down.

Nova wished there was more to life than ridicule and awful set up dates.

"I can't explain it. He gets hurt a lot and is a bit brash but I want to know everything about him. I think there's more to him that meets the eye. He's the first guy who wanted to know me not Miss Abe.There's something about him that makes my world a bit more colorful. It's a cliche but Choi Taejin completes me."

But there was one prince amoung the men- a man named Taejin aka TJ the one who saw her beaneath her masks.

Unlike many of the men before, he actual asked about her to give him a chance. And she was surprised and enamoured to say the least.

Time skip

A new shrine maiden took Nova's body in stride Kyo

Kyo was detemined to kill anything that desitrubed the balanced

Kyo in her own way is trying to push Nova towards her destiny but Nova is afraid

Nova just wants to marry Taejin but thing stop her

Things to know

She's very stubborn and ritualistic

Usually nice but dont push her buttons you will get hell.

Miko heritage from her grandmothers side, as of right now shes the only Abe child who has it so far because the seventh child, but if anyone wants to play the other abe siblings im down. Note they are probably half siblings

I think she knows the supernatural but if you asked her she couldn't describe it. Not out of malice but fear.

Superstitious and Rational - to the point its now taken over her life and the energy seeking is going off

Can come off very obtuse but that because she hates being too attached to others. Has been burned before

A romantic at heart just would never say it aloud

Would love companionship and give people extra food and advive

Friends-

Weekly Cooking Buddies

Father figure

Regular Patient

Suck her into the drama

Optional but this is the kinda vibe im trying for nova post time jump especially post kyo posessions

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

like i saw your obey me fanfic with mc's true form, is it possible to see the other brothers reaction to mc's true form?

Lucifer

“You look…truly stunning (Y/n).”

He’s taking in your beauty and trying to calm himself

He can’t go being bad as he is the example for how his brothers should act

That and he is just taking in the fact that he can see you for your true form

Even with the sheep add-ons

He knew who you were because he chose you to come here 

He tries to make it sound random but he did see your face

And to finally see you looking back at him with your (e/c) and human face he finds it harder to control himself

But he will 

…as long as you don’t do anything that shatters his perception of you being a cute little sheep

Like touching him gently with your little hands

Or smiling a toothy smile when you compliment him

HE CAN’T STAND THIS!!!

You get away with so much because he flusters so easily around you

“I-I have to ask you (Y/n)-san if you could please refrain from–I’m-I’m not sick-just whatever! Do what you were doing before.”

Satan

“I’d like to formally get to know the new you–excuse me–real you, (Y/n)”

He’s quick to know its you and is quite fervently making notes on all the parallels

With how much he reads, he’s read something about sheep with horns not always being male

He’s still going to examine you like your a cryptid come to life

Everything you do becomes a spectacle to him

“You seem to eat the same foods as before but you’re actually a messy eater.”

“Hey!”

At the end of the day it doesn’t make it any easier for him to steal your attention when his brothers on the prowl

But now that you can run more efficiently and actually turn pages he may see you in the library more

He’s delighted at this new development and will often use this change to satisfy his own desires

“Remember how I used to hold you while I read? It's really the same, just sit in my lap~!”

Asmodeus

“(Y/n) how could you hide such a sexy bod under all that wool?!” 

He is so fascinated

Just an hour ago you looked like a cute little sheep that blushed at his advances

Now your a cute human who does so many other things when your flustered

And he is just eating it up

Now when he can actually play dress up with you in his clothes

Before he’d have to stitch up some weird strechy thing

“(Y/n)! Come out! I have another thing I want you to try on! No it isn’t an outfit I’ve had sex in…yet!” 

He’s eager to explore you’re new body and all the cute faces and noise you’ll make

Check your room before you sleep he’s more prone than ever to spy on you to catch you doing something intimate

“I didn’t see anything! Well maybe I saw a nipple but that's it! What, come on?! We can be even!”

Leviathan

“You’re one of those!? The fated trap that otakus fall for the most!” 

Refers to Ruri-chan’s encounter with the prince that revealed themselves to be a charming woman

He avoids you for awhile 

He’s honestly afraid of this change

And he kind of feels upset that you didn’t tell him before

How dare you hide that you had the likeness of an anime waifu 

How dare you!?

..then again when would it have come up

“I’ll let you in if you promise to do Ruri-chan’s power dance.” 

“Okay.” 

“And wear the dress.” 

“O-okay.” 

“And s-sit on my lap while we play!” 

“Uhm..Levi thats…” 

“ Fine! You probably wouldn’t want to sit on a stupid otaku like me, anyway!”

Once he gets past his little sense of betrayal he finds you a lot easier to read when he’s geeking out 

Sooo many cosplay outfits 

Even…matching outfits!

“It would have been more convenient if you could change to a cat-girl but this should be fine. Move your hands, you're spoiling the authenticity of the cosplay! Don’t you want to honor The Tale of the Seven Lords!” 

Beelzlebub

“Don’t worry this doesn’t make me want to eat you, if you were wondering.”

He knows you’re human he knows that

But it means so much more when your not gnawing at food thats been placed in front

Now he sees you’re still so small

Still so portable 

You even still eat such a small amount

Its so…cute

“Here (Y/n), you’ll need more of this if you want to grow bigger.” 

All this change would do was spur his necessity to protect you

You obviously can’t defend yourself with such a weak human body 

So its up to him and Belphie 

“(Y/n) I’ll hold you so you don’t get trampled.” “But people are just walking to class.” “...”

Belphegor 

“What is…(Y/n)?!” 

If it weren’t for him literally being there he wouldn’t believe it

But since he was it’ll take him awhile to go near you

He really doesn’t like humans but he’ll try

Slowly letting himself sit next to you 

Then following you

Eventually he’ll miss holding onto you and will creep into your bed

Only to be pleasantly surprised

“For a stupid human, your really soft.” 

He’ll get you alone and apologize for his behavior

After all he did kill you once

“Now that we have that all cleared up, you’re only allowed to sleep with me.” 

Like Beel he then goes on the overprotective route 

“You’re so fragile, but you’ll be safe in bed…with me.”

[universitypenguin]

Steve Rogers - Sex Headcanon

Warnings: Smut, Light bondage, NSFW, 18+

Word Count: Too long, as usual.

First of all, Steve Rogers loves sex. 

He’s a bit touch starved after waiting for the right woman, but when he finds you and things move into the physical affection stage, he’s all over you.

During sex, Steve loves that he can pick you up with little effort

He likes doing it against the wall

Standing, almost any position

Likes that he can hold your hips still even when you start to squirm when he hits the right spots

In general, holding onto your hips, your butt, and even when he gets to curl his hands around to grasp your inner thighs, Steve is thrilled. Captain America is an ass man.

He loves your legs too, though.

Likes to pin you down for prone bone.

He hates to admit how much using his strength against you turns him on.

But you love it too and when he realizes that you like the same positions he does, it gets more intense.

Like, he’ll pick you up while he’s standing and lift you to his shoulders, draping your legs over his shoulders to eat you out.

When Steve learns that you not only can orgasm multiple times, but that you enjoy it, he starts to let go a bit more.

At first he was careful in bed. He kept things slow and gentle, not being entirely sure of his strength. But once he gets comfortable…

He goes feral

It starts when you ask him to tie you up. The idea is only familiar to him from Tony and Thor’s jokes about 50 Shades of Gray.

Steve hates 50 Shades of Gray. He thinks Christian is an ass who doesn’t respect women.

But back to the topic: bondage. He’s willing to hear you out about why you want that. And eventually, he says yes.

The conversation about bondage goes like this:

You’ve never done bondage before. Despite having several past relationships and experiences, you’ve never trusted a man like that. Erotica tastes aside, reality is a beast of its own.

And without the feeling of complete safety that Steve Rogers inspires in your heart, you won’t have even brought it up.

But you trust him without reservations.

The idea of bondage for you is totally psychological. To have your hands restrained and be blind folded takes the pressure off of you. Sometimes your mind starts going during sex and it ruins your enjoyment.

It’s not like you’re thinking about the groceries or anything, just that you start planning your next move. Should you kiss him now, or do you need to moan louder? Does your moaning sound like a dying cat? Maybe you should keep it down.

So the blind fold is important.

And you don’t want to be able to move because you’d try to plan that too. Sometimes you put a lot of pressure on situations to be perfect. Perfect because you made it perfect, you mean. Your expectations are of yourself.

This is one reason you hate not being able to achieve orgasm. That matters to Steve a lot and he always but your pleasure first. The man is selfless and sweet. And when your mind decides to shut down the orgasm buttons, you hate disappointing him.

Steve is sold on the idea of bondage once he understands that it’s only an option because you feel safe with him. And he likes being the only person you’d trust to be this vulnerable with. All the 50 Shades objections vanish for him once you explain that part.

When you tell him that your struggles orgasming sometimes are from your own pressures to be good in bed, he gets it.

He loves that about you, your desire to please him and make things good. It motivates him to accept the offer of bondage.

Because it makes perfect sense that being forced to be the recipient and having control stripped away would fix that for you.

Steve says that you’ll have to let him make the plan. Which is *so* Steve Rogers it’s almost funny.

On a random Tuesday you get dinner with a friend and come home late. The lights are off which is weird because you expected Steve to be home. When you step inside you call out for him but no reply. Kicking off your shoes you wander to the kitchen and when you reach for the light switch, a hand grabs your wrist.

You give a small scream as a body presses you into the wall. Then you recognize the feel and the scent of his aftershave.

Steve has you pinned to the wall, wrists on either side of your head, feet spread apart and his big body caging you in.

It’s happening. It’s so happening. And you feel thrilled and scared and outrageously excited.

He’s excited too, you can feel it pressing into your back. The man’s been planning and fantasizing, clearly.

“Do you still want this, honey?”

His first words to you are the reason that you want this. It warms your heart at the same time your panties are growing wet.

“Yes, Steve. So much. Please.”

He rolls his hips, pressing his body against you and you can’t control the moan that passes your lips.

“Red means we stop. Yellow is slow down. If I’m going to do something that I think you need to consent to, I’ll ask ‘is this okay?’ and you’re going to say “Green” if you want it. Understand?

“Pick a safe word, doll.”

Eagle is your safe word. Your mind just liked the whole patriotic motif, you supposed.

Once the ground rules are laid out, Steve turns you around and with a tap on the curve of your ass, signals you to jump up.

With your legs around his waist and arms curled around his neck, he carried you upstairs to the bed.

Blindfold goes on first. Then cuffs that are lined with something soft that feels like shearling.

You know without asking that he picked them because he thought handcuffs would be too aggressive. Again, your heart flips.

“I’m going to push you, baby. I want you to wring every bit of enjoyment you can out of this. I’m going to make you come hard. You with me on that?”

You’re with him. You’ve waited a long time to try this.

“I have a plan for aftercare too,” he says.

And that’s your first hint that he’s about to go feral on you like he sometimes does when he’s keyed up from a mission.

Steve Rogers has freaking stamina for days. The man could kill you with sex if he wanted to.

(His sex drive is high… all that waiting for the right girl makes a man horny)

He undoes the halter tie of your dress and pull it down, slipping it over your legs.

He uses his mouth first. And it’s frustrating that he left your panties on. 

(The outfit was something he’d suggested. You’d thought he just liked the sundress and had been complimented when he’d said you’d look great in it today. Now it was clear he’d been planning all day. Probably longer.)

He’s been planning since the night you told him two weeks ago. Before the conversation was even over. You felt safe enough with him to ask for such a private and vulnerable fantasy and that turned him on in a mental way he can’t even explain.

So he starts by teasing you.

He kisses your mouth, slow and sensual. His tongue flicks against yours but never quite for as long as you’d like. And he knows how you like it by this point in the relationship. So you’re well aware he’s teasing you.

His mouth begins to wander to your neck and he laps at the sensitive spot. Your thighs clench in response. You’re soaked now, so wet it’s a little bit embarrassing.

He finally finds your breast with his mouth, taking an aching bud in his mouth and drawing on it. Softly. Gently. Lapping and teasing without the friction you needed to enjoy it.

Your breath came in pants now and you spread your legs to open yourself to encourage him to continue. Because there’s somewhere else that really needs attention.

Instead he turns to the other breast and gives it the same attention. Slower. And softer. Stroking with his tongue until your nipple was painfully tight.

His hand trailed up to cup the breast he wasn’t sucking on. The pad of his thumb made teasing circles and you moaned, arching your back into his mouth.

He chuckled and released the aching bud with a pop. Fingertips swirled the nipple he’d just abandoned, coating it with his saliva. He pinch it just right and your hips jerked.

Arousal was a living breathing thing inside your body now, clawing at your lower belly, turning breath into unsteady pants.

“How are you doing, baby?”

The bastard knew you were dying. Sweat was starting to burst from your pores. Your entire body was hot with need.

“Please, Steve…”

“Mmmhh? What do you need, doll?”

“I need your to touch me.”

“Where?”

“My pussy. I’m so wet for you, please touch me. Get inside of me.”

He purred. This was the moment you realized that you’d created a monster. Because he was getting off on the power play.

(This wasn’t actually when the monster was officially created. No, that would be later when you were done and he got to see your dazed face and tear filled eyes from the magnitude of what he’d drawn your body.)

He let go of the nipple and flattened his palm on your ribs, sliding it down inch by inch until he paused on your low belly.

He toyed with the band of your panties.

“You’re wet for me? Does this needy pussy want my fingers or my mouth?”

“Both!!”

He laughed again. But he went ahead, so it was worth it.

And heaven help you, there were fireworks. The bondage was working wonders for your mental need to be out of control. But Steve took it higher when he forced your legs wide and pinned them to the mattress.

And while spin class workouts did amazing things for your thighs, nothing topped super soldier strength. You were stuck. Legs pushed flat to the bed, hands cuffed to the head board and nothing stopping the extremity turned on man with his head between your legs.

He lied about giving your his mouth and fingers. At first he only used his mouth on your clit, licking around it, touching the tip of his tongue over it in slow flicks, then finally, finally, sucking.

Your body seized at the shock of pleasure, white hot and raw jerking through nerve endings frayed from lack of fulfillment.

He knew what pitch he needed to hear you moan at before he added his fingers.

He knew it because Steve Rogers is a man who studies all the angles of a situation and knows his enemy. Or in this case, knows his lover.

He rubs at your G-spot with the pad of his finger and you scream.

Your head falls back on the pillow and tears start to flow because it’s not enough.

“More, oh, please. Steve, I need-“

He growls. “I know what you need, babydoll. And I’ll give it to you when you’re a good girl and you hold back that orgasm for me. I don’t want you to come yet. Don’t you dare come. If you do I’m going to have to take you over my knee.”

Just the idea of him spanking you almost makes you lose it.

He backs off the intensity. And you start to sob from the brutal frustration of being taken so high and left without release.

His name begins to fall from your lips like a litany, as you start to beg.

“Steve! Please, I want to come!”

“Not yet. Hold back. You be my good girl and hold back. I don’t want to spank that sweet behind until it’s red, but I’ll do it.”

Your scream is gargled by a wave of pleasure that makes your whole body roll as it rips through you from head to toe.

“Let me come, damn it!”

Smack. He’s light and there’s a sting on your right inner thigh.

“Hold. It. Back!”

Screams become sobs. You can’t hold still. You’re fighting the restraints and trying to move but he’s not allowing it. All you can do is clench around his fingers and cry.

“Come for me, baby.”

Release floods you in a second when he gives permission.

The cord of tension snaps. Your muscles lock. The scream you felt building is nowhere to be found. Your voice disappears in the violence of the orgasm. It’s totally silent as your body takes control.

Your channel clamps down around his fingers. The orgasm pulses through your body like being set on fire.

Then you scream. And the muscles that had gone stiff suddenly quiver with release.

If Steve hadn’t held you down through it you’d have been snapping your hips and arching into the sensations, away from them.

He keeps going, pushing you through it until the orgasm is finished.

Then you cry.

Honestly crying, because of the intensity of the release.

You’d expected to get off. You hadn’t guessed that you would get obliterated by the world’s most intense orgasm.

Steve immediately crawls up and takes off the blind fold.

“It’s okay, doll. I’m here. You’re okay, you’re safe. Hold on to me.”

You move, trying to reciprocate when his arms go around you, but they’re still cuffed.

This makes you cry harder.

Steve rips them open, letting you free.

And then you’re in his arms and you can cry properly.

He rolls over with you in his arms, one arm tight around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head.

What shocks you is that he’s not nervous, apologizing, or asking if you’re hurt. He’s petting you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“It’s okay, baby. Let it out. I’m right here, not goin’ anywhere. Hold on to me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

The warm hand moving over your back is a delicious comfort. Almost as good as being held to the strong chest by arms thicker than most people’s legs.

When the storm of emotions passes, you blink up as Steve, a bit confused.

His smile is gentle and his eyes are filled with warmth.

“I did my research. You came down from that hard, didn’t you?”

Your answering “yeah,” is slurred.

He kisses your forehead. If you weren’t already boneless from your release, that would have finished you off.

“You were such a good girl for me. I can’t wait to do this again.”

With a tired smile you arch an eyebrow.

“But we can’t be done. I haven’t had you inside of me yet, soldier.”

Steve’s eyes go wide at the remark and you smirk.

“I still need you to fuck me, baby. I need to feel you finish on top of me and collapse into my arms. Please.”

You said please. And if he didn’t get assist a lady who needed his help, what kind of a hero was he?

[blzzrdstryr]

Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

[silkenstarlight]

body is a temple

Summary: Bucky and reader are training when she finds him staring at her ass. She tries to rile him up, but quickly learns that he doesn’t tolerate teasing.

Pairing: Personal trainer!Bucky x reader

Warning/s (18+ only, minors dni): enemies to lovers, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, multiple orgasms

Word count: 2.8k

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Author’s note: i wrote this while wine-drunk, so if it’s extra horny, you know why

“Fuck!”

You tumbled onto the mat, back slamming against cool polyethylene. The breath whooshed from your body in a dramatic, crushing exhale, your lungs desperately trying to pull in air but failing beyond shallow, raspy puffs. Bucky looked down at you, the fluorescent lights of the gym feathering behind his head in a blinding halo, smirking as he drank in the image of you sprawled on the mat below him, completely at his mercy. He let you lie there for one, two, three seconds, before holding out his hand for you to grab onto. It was a kind gesture, something that completely contrasted with his previous rough treatment. You squinted and firmly grasped his hand, feeling your back leave the mat as he propped you upright again.

“Is that the best that you can do, (Y/N)?” He stepped back, walking to the edge of the mat and retrieving your water bottle for you.

You huffed, raspy breathing slowly returning to normal. “Is this really necessary?”

He handed you your water bottle, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary.”

“I was told that you would be my personal trainer. Nowhere in the program description did it say that you were going to beat my ass all day,” you shook your head, slightly incredulous, and took a few grateful gulps from the water bottle. You felt more comfortable talking back to him because you were the last ones left in the gym today, with no one but him to overhear your complaining. You had expected some light cardio, maybe some weight training, when you had signed up for individual sessions with a personal trainer at your new gym. You didn’t think you would be paired right away with Bucky, who seemed to exclusively work with experienced heavy lifters, and you definitely didn’t think he would take it upon himself to teach you self-defense, a skill which he was surprisingly extremely well-versed in. Every day for the past week, you had ended up in a similar supine position on the mat, beaten and scrambling for air, accumulating a mottled collection of nasty bruises and scrapes on your knees and elbows. The most frustrating part was that he remained unscathed through it all. Every time, it was you on your ass, and him helping you up. It made you want to scream.

Well, that actually wasn’t the only thing about this whole situation that made you want to scream. He was incredibly good-looking, exactly your type, all brooding looks and dark eyes. You actually had to pick your jaw up off of the floor when he walked in to your first session last week. But, the worst part was, he was a cocky bastard. He had to know the effect he had on you, and yet, he chose to do nothing about it.

“Well, you’ll just have to do better if you want me to stop crushin’ you every time.” He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and even though he frustrated you to no end, it took everything you had in you not to let your eyes drift down to look at his toned stomach.

“Now I think you’re just trying to make me mad.” You huffed, walking to the edge of the mat and returning your water bottle to its perch, preparing for another round.

“Well, if I’m pissing you off, why don’t you use that anger? Beat me. Just once,” he smirked, as if firmly believing that you couldn’t, that you didn’t have it in you. But, you were just stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“Fine.” You cocked your head and gritted your teeth, digging your heels into the mat and crouching in a ready position. 

“3… 2… 1… start.” The ghost of a smirk still graced his face, but he was concentrating on your movements now, eyes darting as you approached.

Jab, cross, jab. Knee, high kick, and--

“Damn you, Barnes.” 

One quick sweep, and he had you pinned. You wanted to scream, to thrash in frustration, but his body pressing against your back limited any movement on your part. Wonder if he likes having me pinned like this. You tried not to let that thought develop further, lest the heat you had worked up from sparring travelled up your neck for him to see, or worse, somewhere farther south--

“Why are you still panting, (Y/N)?” You could feel a puff of hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

Fuck. “My, uh… my asthma must be acting up again.” 

“Didn’t think you had asthma.” He flipped off of you, arching a brow as you slowly stood.

“Forgot to tell you, then,” you fibbed, trying at all costs to avoid spilling the truth, that your panting was the effect of an illicit fantasy that you had thought about in bed, alone, on more than one occasion.

“Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced. You both got into a ready position again.

“3… 2… 1… start.”

This time, you took more of a defensive strategy, evaluating him before striking. Maybe, if you weren’t so focused on completing the flourishing movements, on hitting with perfect precision and strength, you could anticipate his attack instead. You circled around each other like sharks, his eyes glinting almost hungrily, but doing nothing to bely his next move. It was like trying to size up a brick wall.

Suddenly, he darted forward with a speed that no man his size should have, and he swept your legs from under you, flipping you with ease. You fell ungracefully in a prone position, cheek smacking the mat, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. You groaned, aching muscles begging for you to stop and rest instead of getting up and accepting his challenge. You pressed your forehead into the mat, weighing whether it was worth the hassle of asking him to cut your session short today, when you noticed that he was completely silent.

You furrowed your brows, eyes flying open. Every time he had defeated you in previous rounds, he had uttered some sarcastic, infuriating quip, trying to rub in his victory even more. But he hadn’t said anything yet.

You pushed your chest up off the mat, craning your neck to look back at him. He was obviously looking at your body, eyes transfixed on your lower half, but when he sensed your sudden movement, he broke out of his trance. He quickly got up from his kneeling position, clearing his throat and walking to the water jug on the far wall. A smile slowly grew on your face as you realized that he had been staring at your ass.

You stood up, slowly walking toward him, assessing him with a sly expression on your face. “Were-- were you doing what I think you were doing just then?”

His back was to you as he filled a little paper cup with water. “If you mean pummelling your sorry ass into the mat yet again, then yes.” His voice still carried its usual snarky tone, but it shook slightly, as if he were just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Not exactly what I meant.” You stepped closer until a foot separated you, and he turned around to face you.

“Then what do you mean, doll?” He smiled smugly, but you noticed the pink blush that was creeping its way up his neck.

You hummed a laugh. “What I mean, Barnes,” you cocked your head, relishing how your sudden onset confidence wiped the smirk from his face, “is that you were enjoying the view back there. Isn’t that right?”

Now it was his turn to huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’ve got a nice ass. Gotta get something out of these sparring sessions.”

You scoffed. “Fucking pervert.”

“Call me that again.” His tone was more serious, suddenly bereft of the saccharine sarcasm you were so used to.

You paused, weighing his tone against the risqué direction the conversation was heading, and you smirked, deciding to provoke him further. “You’re a fucking pervert. Beatin’ girls up, just so you have a chance to get a good, long look at their bodies. What the fuck is up with that? Can’t get some like a normal person, can you?”

He let that sink in, head dipped, eyebrows raised. But then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. He looked at you with hooded eyes, and your stomach flipped, unsure if you were extremely turned on by your sudden proximity to him, or if you were preparing to balk.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” His voice was low, rasping with something you’ve never heard from him. Your mind was telling you to back up, to leave this encounter before it got messy, but your feet stayed rooted in position as he bridged the gap between your bodies. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around before pinning you roughly against the wall.

“You know,” he said, breath hot against your ear, “you really shouldn’t be calling me a perv, when I know exactly what goes on in that head of yours during our training.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” You decided to play dumb, hoping that he wasn’t astute enough to deduce your secret, licentious desires.

“Oh, you know. Whenever I pin you, you’re always blushing.” He laughed mockingly. “It’s cute. It’s like you secretly want to be dominated.”

You huffed a breath as his hands traveled down your waist, before settling gently on your hips. His lips dragged across the shell of your ear and down your neck, pressing against your pulse point. You arched your back, grinding against the hard bulge that was forming in his shorts.

“Is that right, (Y/N)? You want me to pin you down and fuck you dumb?” He mumbled against your neck.

A wanton moan tumbled from your lips in response, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His fingers dug harshly into your hips. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, p-please.” You hated how breathy your voice was, but you were too overtaken by desire to care whether he was just doing this to get a reaction from you.

“Please what?” You could feel his mouth curl into a smile as he reattached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“Please, please, please, fuck me, Bucky.” Another moan slipped from your mouth.

“That’s better, baby.” His fingers relaxed against your hips, tracing upwards to the hem of your leggings. He tugged them down with your underwear so that they settled just below your ass, and he pulled back slightly to look at your bare backside.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice gravelly and low. He squeezed one cheek with his hand, kneading it slightly before letting it go and slapping it. “Been dreaming of this ass. It’s just as good as I imagined.”

You gasped, giggling. “So, I was right.”

“Right about what?” He asked, pulling down his shorts and freeing his cock before pressing it against your backside, hot length already dripping with precum.

“You’re a fucking perv, Bucky Barnes.” You smiled coquettishly.

He stilled behind you, and you could feel his glare burning a hole through the back of your neck. You kept smiling anyways-- this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.

He guided the tip of his member down to your slit, dragging it from your perineum to your clit and back again to gather your wetness, before completely sheathing himself inside of you in one motion. You moaned loudly in response to the harsh intrusion, body struggling to accommodate his size.

“Thought you learned not to call me that,” he said, voice level, unbothered by the fact that you were throbbing around him.

“Guess I n-never learn.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he began to move, slowly thrusting to allow your body a chance to adapt to the thrilling ache of being so completely full. It was a harsh sensation, but it felt good, each stroke dragging pleasantly against your tight walls.

“Oh, you’ll learn.” His left hand travelled up your body, drawing under your shirt and flipping the band of your sports bra up. Your breasts bounced free, full and heavy. “Let’s see those pretty little tits, huh?”

He pinched one nipple, rolling its rosy, peaked bud between his cool metal fingers and making you squeal in delight. You ground back against him, encouraging him to move faster inside of you.

“You like that?” He switched to the other nipple, kneading your breast gently in his hand, and you arched into the motion. “That feel good?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to swallow your moans, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart so quickly and completely at his hands. “N-no.”

“You know,” he said, driving into you harder and harder with each thrust, but remaining frustratingly unperturbed and casual, “you don’t have to lie to me. I feel how drenched you are. You can admit how good it feels, baby.” His feigned affectionate tone, paired with the way that the tip of his cock was starting to brush against your g-spot, made you cry out. His permission to let go just made you want to disobey him even more, but the pleasure was slowly overtaking your body, overriding your sense of shame. You rocked on your heels, trying to take back some semblance of control, but when his left hand dragged from your breast to your neck, squeezing slightly, you were a goner. You shattered around him, your muscles fluttering around him and coaxing a gruff moan from his throat. But, he kept his focus, fucking you through your orgasm and watching your face as he did, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips dropped open in a soft “o.” He let go of your throat and you gasped. 

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he refused to slow down, his unrelenting pace repeatedly hitting your deepest point. You could feel him grinning stupidly at you, proud that he had already coaxed an orgasm out of you despite not cumming yet himself.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, your body limp against his. Though your first orgasm had abated, you quickly felt tension building again inside of you.

“Not so cocky now, are you, (Y/N)?” He said between heavy breaths. You knew he was close, just by the sound, but you also knew that he wouldn’t leave this room without teasing another orgasm from your body. “So docile once I put my dick in you.” He panted, laughing at the way you mewled and gasped around him.

His hand drifted down to where your bodies met, finding your clit in the slippery mess of your combined arousal. He pressed his fingers against it in erratic little circles, your body keening for him, completely at his mercy. 

“Look at that, makin’ you gush around me again,” he said, almost to himself, reveling in your neediness. “Looks like I win at this, too.” And, with that, you were done for.

Your muscles squeezed around him in a sweet, warm vice, and he groaned at the sensation of you cumming around him a second time. You mewled pathetically, body spent with unabashed pleasure. He followed closely behind you, losing himself inside of you and spilling his arousal in hot, vulgar stripes. His head was thrown back, claiming your body as his in sweet, silent throes. Once his hips finally stilled, his body slumped against yours, completely and utterly spent. You stayed like that for a moment, leaning up against the wall, the battle between you clearly over. And then, he grasped your hips, his cock slipping out of you with a vulgar sucking sound.

You bent down, pulling up your pants, when you heard him clear his throat. You looked back, reaching underneath your shirt to pull your sports bra back down over your tits, when he chuckled. You arched a brow, but he just shook his head slightly. “That was… much more fun than beating you up.”

You frowned slightly, but when you saw his goofy smile and suddenly relaxed demeanor, you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Does that mean that we get to do that, instead of my training?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said sternly, crossing his arms but smiling slyly nonetheless. “But, we can do it outside of training. As long as I get to take you to dinner first,” he added quickly, his voice almost shy as he averted your gaze.

You smiled, laughing, and he looked up, expression nervous. Now, you shook your head. “Considering how good you just fucked me, I should be the one buying you dinner.”

He smirked, grabbing your water bottle and handing it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Now, that’s an offer that I can’t refuse.”